


Who Wants to Live Forever

by AHumanFemale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 56,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHumanFemale/pseuds/AHumanFemale
Summary: Donna is a federal witness.  The bad guys want her dead.Dean is her bodyguard.  He just wants her.After discovering her boss's horrible secret, Donna risks it all to secure evidence to put him away for life.  Now she's running for hers, only trying to make it long enough to testify.  Federal Prosecutor Sam Winchester knows that the cops can't keep her safe so he calls in his brother, a mechanic with a troubled past who has made it perfectly clear that he's done with that part of his life.  Until he sees Donna, sweet and brave and determined to do the right thing even if it gets her killed.Good thing he won't let it.





	1. Prologue : Bad Company

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise! It's me! With more Dean x Donna! This novel-length fic will include the following:
> 
> 1) Fluff  
> 2) Smut  
> 3) Violence  
> 4) Feels
> 
> Most likely in that order. 
> 
> xoxo, AHF

**Who Wants to Live Forever**

 

 

_**Prologue: Bad Company** _

  
  


Donna emptied the shredder and snuffed out her aromatherapy candle, sending the smell of black chamomile tinged with smoke into her modest office space.  Another work week had come to an end.  Well, forty-five minutes ago it had.  But there hadn’t been a Friday night in five years where Donna had been out the door on time.  “Workaholic” was the word her friends used.  Her brain liked to whisper back  _ lonely _ but that was neither here nor there.  Besides, she had leftover pad thai in the fridge.  If that didn’t constitute a good night then she just didn’t know what did.

“I’m pretty sure I sent you home an hour ago,” a gently accusing voice said from the door.  She turned to find her boss, Dick Roman, standing in her doorway with a knowing smile.  That dear man kept expecting her to keep regular hours and not take her work too seriously - he hadn’t figured out in five years that she  _ liked  _ work.  

“Just like I’m pretty sure I confirmed dinner reservations for two in, oh,” she looked at her watch,” A little more than half an hour from now.”

Mr. Roman’s face fell.  “Date night.”

“That’s right, Romeo,” she preened, enjoying the tables turning in her favor.  “Eve is probably already in the cab and on her way.  Better skidaddle.” 

“Can you call and let her know I’m going to be late?” he asked, panic touching the words.  “God, she’s going to kill me.  For good reason.”

“I called the cab fifteen minutes ago.  He’s probably parked outside by now,” Donna answered, enjoying it when he looked at her with such unbridled admiration.  Her boss looked at her like she was Supergirl, jetting around and saving the world.

“What would I do without you?”

“Sleep on the couch and get fleeced by your vendors,” she laughed.  “Go on.  Give her a hug for me.  I’ll see ya on Monday.”

He saluted and jogged off down the hallway, barely missing a custodian as he emptied a trash can.  Donna shook her head, laughing.  That man.  Forgetful as the day is long, even if he was sweet as pie.  

Donna had come to New York at twenty-five, fresh out of college.  She was also fresh out of money and fresh out of ideas of how to get more, as all of her romantic comedies insisted that it would be way easier to find a job in the big city.  Particularly for a pretty smart girl with a big smile, but not many places were hiring for those skills.  She was in the middle of pleading her employment case to a manager at an upscale clothing chain when Mr. Roman overheard and interrupted.  He’d offered her an assistant job right on the spot, with a two-month trial period to see if it was a good fit.

It was.

She was polite to a fault but willing to play dirty to get shipments in and out on a timely manner, always ready to return a favor if one was given to her.  Mr. Roman was suddenly on time to his meetings (mostly) and company profits were skyrocketing.  He had investors now - they were even looking at expanding to Boston next year and Charleston the year after, which was faster than any of them had projected even when they were being generous.  Mr. Roman liked to give her the credit but she knew he was being humble; he didn’t like admitting that he was a good businessman, no matter how often everyone around him insisted it was true.  

Donna marveled at her luck as she closed her computer and took her jacket off the back of her chair.  The wind had only just started to taste like fall, promising changing leaves and candy apples in the next few weeks as summer wound down.  She was turning off her lamp and unplugging her coffee pot as the phone rang, jolting out of her content reverie.  Rolling her eyes, she imagined her boss struggling to tell the cab driver what restaurant to take him to.

“So help me, Mr. Roman, if you tell me you’ve forgotten-”

“Is this Miss Hanscum?”

“Oh!” she cried, hearing a voice that was obviously not her boss’s on the other line.  “My gosh, Mr. Shaw, I’m so sorry.  Mr. Roman just left the office and he’s especially scatterbrained today.”  

“Well, you’re goddamn right about that,” the man groused.  Robert Shaw oversaw incoming cargo at the docks.  He was a crotchety old man from a long line of sailors and his vocabulary kept with tradition.  “That boss of yours has two full dry storage containers on my dock that aren’t on my damn logs.  Now I’ve scoured the invoices you’ve sent me and I have gotten not a single damn word about this from your people.”

“Mr. Shaw, I do apologize.  Let me see what I can find on my end,” she said, opening her computer back up and sifting through her correspondence to him.  Nothing about an extra shipment today - in fact they’d scheduled around today, because - ah!  Mr. Shaw was going to be out of town, celebrating his seventieth birthday.  “Wait, why are you at work?  Aren’t you supposed to be partying somewhere?”

He snorted.  “Girl, old dogs like me don’t party.  They work and then they die.”

“So the kids didn’t make it in?” she asked softly.  His girls lived in California and hadn’t made it back to the east coast in several years.  They were supposed to try but it doesn’t look like it worked out this time.

“They got busy,” he groused and abruptly changed the subject.  “But that doesn’t mean that boss of yours can try to sneak cargo in under my nose!”

“I assure you that’s not what happened.”

“The hell it isn’t.”

Donna found nothing on her end and told him so.  Still.  She thought of Mr. Roman rushing to take his wife on a date and couldn’t bring herself to call him, knowing how important this one night a month was to the two of them.  Especially as business picked up and his time was in greater demand.  

It was settled - this was on her.

“Listen, why don’t I come down and take a peek myself?  I’ll bring all our incoming shipments and see what we can match up.  That sound good?”

He grumbled something that sounded like consent.

“Alrighty then,” she said brightly and headed out the door with her work tablet in the crook of her arm.  “You just sit tight.  I’m headed your way.”

 

**…**

 

The wind rolling in off the ocean had picked up by the time she got to the docks and she wrapped her jacket tighter around her shoulders, doing her best to avoid crushing the small bakery box under her arm.  Mr. Shaw’s office was out on the docks, where he could keep an eye on everything coming and going.  He was waiting for her when she knocked on the door, waving her inside to a chair that might have been older than her.  The burnt orange vinyl had a split precisely down the center, exposing stiff foam long ago turned grungy with wear. 

“Come in, come in,” he ordered and caught her hiding something.  “What in God’s name is that?” 

She offered him the pink box with a smile.  “Happy birthday, Mr. Shaw.”

“The hell?” he asked and took it gingerly, like he was accepting a jack-in-the-box with a hair trigger.  He cracked open the lid to see the cupcake, vivid blue icing swirled artfully with a small plastic octopus and anchor to top it off.  It was from her favorite bakery - they were able to whip it up in fifteen minutes from what was leftover from the day. The decorations were stolen from another cake.  

If she didn’t know any better the man looked like he might finally crack a smile.

“This… uh,” he reached up to scratch his white hair.  “This is nice, Miss Hanscum.  Thank you.”

“Happy to,” she said and sensed that he may have been out of his emotional depth.  He called wanting a fight to get some of that meanness out of his system and he didn’t get one.  Instead he got her chipper self and a cupcake.  

“So, I may owe you an apology.”

Her eyebrow arched.  “Oh?”

“I did find some paperwork with those numbers on it, but it’s a day early - they were slated for tomorrow, under Joey’s watch,” he said, handing her some crumpled carbon copies.  “It has your boss’s signature on it but it’s really scribbled, like he was in a rush.  I could barely read it.”

She took the papers and searched for the signature line.  

Mr. Shaw was right - it was Mr. Roman’s signature but it looked wrong.  Distorted or purposefully messy.

“Well, let’s go see these stray containers,” she said, tucking the papers into a pocket.  “I’ve got the last six months of shipments and the next three months, so between the two we should be able to figure out what happened.”

“Grab one of my sweaters over there,” he said gruffly as he readjusted his hat, “It’s getting nasty out there as the sun comes down.  It’ll be damn close to freezing by the time we’re done.”

She thanked him and chose a dark fleece that would fit over her blazer.  He led her out the door and they headed into the maze of shipping containers.  Metal boxes of varying colors and sizes took up nearly every square inch of space, differentiated by color and company logo.  Donna couldn’t look at them for more than a few minutes without going cross-eyed so she was happy to let him do the work of looking for them.  When they came to the two containers in question, it was easy to see what had Mr. Shaw confused.

“These aren’t our numbers,” she said with certainty, looking at a random jumble of numbers that had to have been spray-painted on.  “The format is wrong, too.  They have sixteen digits but the dashes and letters are gone.  I’m not going to be able to search for these in our database.”

“That’s your logo, ain’t it?” he asked, indicating the massive white ROMAN ENTERPRISES designation across the side.

“Yeah, that at least looks real,” she said, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.  “What was the weight on these two?”

“Just a hair over five tons.”

She frowned.  “That’s pretty light.”

“Yup.”

“Did you open them?”

“Not a chance,” Mr. Shaw huffed.  “Open myself up to a lawsuit if you office folk come up with missing cargo?  I think not.”

“You know I’m not going to sue you.”

“All the same.”

“Well, I’ll do it then,” she said, handing him her tablet and reaching for the keyring in her pocket.  She had a key that went to all Roman Enterprises containers, just in case of emergencies like this.  She unlocked it and started lifting levers, until the doors came loose and she was able to swing them open.  They smacked against the sides of the container and her heart stopped.  The smell hit her first, the acrid stench of sweat and urine and feces like a tangible presence in the small space.  Behind her she heard Mr. Shaw gasp in horror.

_ Oh, my God. _

Dozens of girls peered back at her from the darkness, most unwilling to maintain eye contact for more than a second or two.  They stared at her through dark, knotted hair matted with grime.  Bruises lined their arms and legs and they sat in puddles of what must have been their own filth.  Most were Hispanic, if not all.  They were young - God, they were so young that it hurt.  The oldest she could see was maybe twenty.  Donna felt bile rising up in her throat and she choked it back, unintentionally thinking of her sweet boss on a date with his wife and his signature on the invoices for these containers.  

A monster, she decided.  He’s a monster.

Donna had run to the next container a few feet away before the thought had fully formed, releasing the lock and flinging the doors open to find more girls in the same condition.  They looked at her with fear in their eyes, wondering what horror was going to be inflicted on them next.  

“Go call the police,” she told her companion, who was still frozen in place.  “Mr. Shaw!”

“Yes,” he answered reflexively, shaking himself out of it.  “Yes, I’ll go call.”

She watched him shuffle back toward his office and Donna was left with these girls - victims who were looking at her like she was the next monster to cart them off.  

“English?” she asked hopefully, knowing her Spanish was worse than awful.  

No one spoke up.  

She gave them her sunniest smile, knowing it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Okay, girls, here’s the plan,” she said, “Mr. Shaw is calling the police.  I’m going to take some pictures for evidence.  Okay?  I’m- I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

No one answered.  

She turned on her tablet’s camera and took pictures, getting the shipping container and all its logos and designation numbers.  There were places where origin codes and destination codes had been scratched out so she got shots of that, too.  Finally she took pictures of the girls, bracing herself against the squalor and fear.  She caught the hopeful eye of a girl who couldn’t have been more than ten.  Tears burned behind her eyes as she told them to wait so she could go back to the other container and do the same thing there.  By the time she finished Mr. Shaw had come back with a whole armful of jackets and blankets, breathless and reporting that every damn cop in the city was headed straight for them.  He offered a jacket to an older girl with nothing on but a filthy sundress but she looked at him with outright terror, refusing to take it.

“I can’t believe this,” she murmured, still in shock.  “All these years…”

The skyrocketing business, the profits, the expansions.

_ Her raises. _

It all came from this.  From evil.

“That son of a bitch couldn’t do this alone,” he told her, still trying to hand out a jacket to someone who would take it.  “You have to have connections.  Someone to… fucking hell, someone to  _ buy  _ them.  Sorry, Miss Hanscum.”

“I probably know them,” she realized with dawning horror.  “I’ve organized and facilitated every part of his life for years.  There’s no way I haven’t spoken to someone involved with this.”

“This isn’t your fault, Donna,” he said, already following her train of thought.  

“I have to go,” she said suddenly.  Mr. Shaw looked flabbergasted and she shook her head, understanding where his mind had gone.  “I’m not running.  I have to go back to our office.  There are files, books, hard drives.  He has a private safe that would probably point the police in the right direction when they start looking for connections.”

“Will anyone see you?”

“No,” she said with certainty.  “No, there’s no one left in the building by now.  But we probably don’t have long before this gets back to him so I have to hurry.”  She pushed her tablet into his hands.  “I took pictures of everything I could think they might need.  Give it to them when they get here and tell them I’m coming back with more.”

“Be quick about it,” he told her and his eyes softened, “And be careful, girl.”

She nodded and took off, bracing herself against the lingering cold that had nothing to do with the weather.  All the way back to the car her anger built and built, until a red haze clouded her vision and her hands shook.  Donna was going to make sure Dick Roman paid for this - so help her, he was going away.

Forever.


	2. Wanted Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later - things start hitting the fan and Sam is reduced to drastic measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for checking this out. Please let me know what you think so I know I'm on the right track. 
> 
> xoxo

**Chapter One:  Wanted Dead or Alive**

  
  


**_Six Months Later_ **

 

Sam Winchester cleared his throat, once again going over Charlie Bradbury’s forensics report.  She was yammering in the background, trying to explain the finer points to him, but the implications were the same.  He ran a hand over his face.  Exhaustion creeped in and he braced himself against it, knowing he still had a long night ahead of him.  

The Roman trial was three months away, and now someone was trying to kill off their key witness.  

Donna Hanscum sat in front of him, politely listening to Charlie and trying to follow along.  The politeness bothered him, oddly enough.  A normal person would be a crying, raving mess had forensics just confirmed that the weird bit of debris under her car was, in fact, a bomb.  Instead Donna nodded demurely and thanked Charlie for all her hard work.  Even the bubbly redhead seemed taken aback by the lack of nerves.

“So, uh, yeah,” Charlie finished lamely, giving a weak thumbs-up.  “You were right.  Good job.”

“Well, at least I know my powers of deduction are top-notch,” she offered but the joke didn’t land.  Even she knew she was trying too hard.  She sighed, folding her hands in her lap.  “So, what do we do?  I mean, other than painting my car and getting new plates.”

“Maybe consider avoiding cars entirely,” Charlie interjected with a pained smile.  “And also getting a personal taste-tester because that candy bar you brought us was totally poisoned.”

She nodded but Sam could see that this one hurt.

Donna had gotten into her car a few weeks ago to find some peanut butter cups in her front seat, a favorite treat of hers.  She couldn’t remember buying them.  They stayed in her purse for days before she trusted her gut and brought them in, suspecting the worst.  And she’d been right.  It probably only hurt worse that her former boss had a part in it, knowing after those years she worked for him that this was something she liked and probably wouldn’t think twice about finding in her car.

“We need to get her in witness protection,” a deep voice said from across the room.

Detective Cole Trenton stood by the door, arms crossed over his chest and a surly expression turning the corners of his mouth down.  He’d been the first on scene when the police were called to the docks and he was the man responsible for cataloging the mountains of evidence Donna had stolen from Roman Enterprises before her boss had been arrested.  It was no secret that he was attached to Donna - he was happily married with a kid, as far as Sam knew, but there was a sense of responsibility there that kept him involved even after his job had technically finished.  Donna had called him first when she suspected her car had been messed with.

“Witness protection?” Donna asked incredulously.  “That’s a real thing?” 

“WitSec is backlogged,” Sam said.  “I’ve already inquired.”

“Backlogged?” Charlie asked.  “You can do that when witnesses might be getting killed off?”  She grimaced, looking apologetically at Donna.  “And by that I mean  _ not  _ getting killed off because we’re smart and on top of this.”

“Protecting witnesses takes money and manpower, both of which are stretched pretty tight right now,” he replied with a sigh.  “They wouldn’t be able to get her in for another ten months, and that’s if everything is smooth sailing for those entire ten months.”

“The trial is in three months,” Trenton commented unhelpfully.

Sam scowled.  “You don’t say.”

“So, what then?” Donna asked, for the first time looking a little lost.  “Do I just go home?  Hope for the best?”

“Get rid of the car, get a new apartment,” Trenton said.  “Maybe get a massive dog.  Something with big teeth and a taste for hired thugs.”

“I can’t sell my car,” she argued.  “What if someone else got blown up?”

“So put it in storage until this is over,” he countered, “But you can’t keep doing what you’re doing, Donna.  Clearly he’s figured out that these charges aren’t going away and he’s trying to keep you from testifying.”

“Yah,” she sighed.  “Yah, okay.”  

Donna took a deep breath and resigned herself to what was coming.  Sam didn’t have the heart to tell her it was probably going to get worse.

As the federal prosecutor assigned to the case, Sam had been forced to get to know Richard Roman more than he ever wanted to.  The man was a psychopath with a remarkably convincing human face - he honestly didn’t give a good goddamn about the girls found in his shipping containers, the youngest of which was a few weeks shy of her ninth birthday.  All he saw were dollar signs, shipping them into the country under the protection of his legitimate business and then taking a cut when they got sold.  With his crack legal team and social status, it was no wonder Dick believed for so long that he was going to skate right out of these charges.  

Instead, he’d gone head to head with Sam Winchester and realized that the prosecutor wasn’t interested in deals, bribery, or intimidation.  This was going all the way to trial and Donna was going to help Sam lock him up for the rest of his natural life, and then probably a few years of his afterlife while they were at it.  It was after the fifth failed dismissal attempt that the attempts on Donna’s life started.  

“Do you have family you could stay with?” Sam asked her, feeling a pang of sympathy.

Donna shook her head.  “No.  Well, yes.  I do.  But I’m not going to go put them in harm’s way because I have bad taste in employers.  I’m better off on my own.”

“The bomb on your car would beg to differ,” Charlie murmured and Sam shot her a look.  “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“You could come stay with us,” Trenton offered and Donna shook her head with a sad smile.

“Thanks, Cole, but you know I can’t do that.  Two witnesses in one house is a recipe for a mysterious gas leak and that little boy of yours is too sweet to risk,” she said.  “I swear I’ll be okay.  I’ll get an new apartment.  Maybe I’ll become a redhead!  Oh!  Or get a nose ring!  That might be fun.”

“It’s going to take more than that,” Trenton started.

“I know, I know,” she said dejectedly, “But I’m at a loss here, fellas.  Short of moving to the Arctic and herding caribou for cash under the table, I’m kind of stuck.”

“I, uh… I might have something else in mind,” Sam said distractedly, the wheels already turning in his mind.  “Let’s all call it a night and get some rest.  Donna, I’m going to book you a hotel room under my name.  I’ll text you the address.  We can pick up tomorrow, when we’ve all gotten some rest.”

Everyone nodded in agreement and said their goodnights, Donna offering him a weak wave as she headed out the door.  Trenton followed closely, jaw set tight.  He would probably escort her to the hotel.  If something happened to Donna there was a good chance Trenton would come for his head.  Sighing, Sam contemplated what he was about to do and braced himself for the inevitable squabbling.

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and hit the first number on his speed dial.

 

**…**

 

Dean looked at the engine above him and frowned at the grime - it was really no wonder the thing had started making funny noises.  The Mustang might have been a sight to look at it but it was running shaky and had a full drumset clanking around under the hood.  You can’t treat cars like shit and expect them to run forever.  Still, that’s why he had a job.  Hard to run a garage if people didn’t take a few liberties.  So instead of complaining he set to humming some Stairway and getting to work.

“Dean!”

Or not.

Bobby’s voice called to him from across the shop, echoing off the hard cement floor.  Dean rolled himself out from under the Mustang and sat up.  Bobby waved a phone from his bench, not bothering to turn from his work.

“What?  Is it that tennis pro again?” Dean asked as he pulled himself up off the floor.  “I told him eighteen times this week I was waiting for that part before I could-”

“It’s your brother,” Bobby interrupted and tossed him the phone as he got closer.  

That was a nice surprise - it had been close to two weeks since their last phone call.  Sam would swear he was busy but Dean had started to suspect that his little brother was too cool for him now.  

He held the phone to his ear and cried, “Sammy!”

“Hey Dean,” Sam answered.  “You busy?”

“Not any more than usual,” he said.  “How’s life in the big city?”

“Fine.”

“Well, it sounds just peachy,” Dean needled and leaned back on Bobby’s workbench.  His uncle slid him a glare but kept right on working.  “So, what’s up?  Just call to breathe in my ear?”

Sam chuckled.  “Um, something like that.  I need a favor.”

“Are you having trouble with your rollerskate again?” Dean asked, immediately exasperated.  “Sammy, I told you those hybrids might be good for the environment but you still can’t expect them to last.  Just go junk it for a real car.”

“Okay, one, I like my car,” Sam argued, “And two, that’s not why I’m calling.”

Sam’s wife sprang to mind.  “Is Eileen okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.”

“You’re making me nervous, buddy.  Is something wrong?”

“Not with me,” Sam said and Dean heard him exhale loudly over the line.  “I’m working a case right now.  A really big one and we’re running into some roadblocks.  Namely, witness tampering.”

“Okay,” Dean said slowly.  “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Do you remember that human trafficking case that was in the news a few months back?”

“Yeah, the big CEO guy out there on the east coast,” Dean recalled and his eyes widened.  “Sammy, that’s your case?”

“That would be me.”

“You’re okay?” he asked, panic springing up.  This managed to get Bobby’s attention, forcing him to put down what he was working on and give the phone call his utmost attention. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I promise.  It’s not me they’re after - it’s my key witness.  In the last few weeks she’s gotten poisoned food and an explosive strapped to the bottom of her car.”

“Jesus,” Dean marveled. “Is she okay?”

“So far,” Sam replied, “But I’m worried that it’s just a matter of time before they accomplish something.  Either they hurt her or scare her enough to keep her from testifying.”

“Did you hand her off to the feds?”

“They can’t take her,” Sam said with a sigh.  “Not for almost a year, and our trial is in three months.  It’s getting the rush treatment because the judge is waging a new war on human rights offenses for his re-election campaign.  That’s uh… that’s where you come in.”

Dean balked.  “What are you talking about?”

“I need you to come to New York,” he explained further and realization dawned, finally showing him where Sam was headed with all this.

“You want me to be a babysitter.”

“Not a babysitter.  More like a bouncer… for one person.”  Sam cleared his throat, changed his tactics.  “Just stay with her a few weeks, keep an eye on her and an eye on the surroundings.  If something feels funny get her out.  Get her to court on June ninth, preferably in one piece capable of giving testimony.”

“Not happening.”  

“Dean-”

“No,” he snapped, fists clenching.

“This woman is terrified,” Sam insisted, voice getting a little louder.  “She’s trying to put on a brave face for me and everyone else but it’s not working.  What am I supposed to do?  Just tell her to cross her fingers and say a few prayers?”

“I’m not saying that,” Dean argued, “But I am telling you to find someone else.  There has to be a cop somewhere in the city who wouldn’t mind working off the clock.”

“Dick Roman is incredibly well connected.  There’s no way I’m pulling in some random beat cop to protect her.”

“Well hell then, Sam, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sam gave a bitter scoff, telling him without much doubt what he thought of his brother at the moment.  “If you think I’m just going to give up on this, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not even qualified to take the bomb off her car!  Much less keep her alive,” Dean yelled back.  

“You and I both know that’s bullshit.”

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself.

“I don’t do that kind of work anymore,” he said evenly, trying to keep his temper in check.  Sam knew full well why Dean was a mechanic now and had yet to make a peep about it, even when their father bitched to high heaven.

“I know that, and I respect your decision,” his brother replied, “But this woman is in a lot of danger.  They’re out for blood and she is completely defenseless and I can’t just ignore that.”  He cleared his throat.  “And not to sound cold, but if she dies or gets scared off our case goes out the window.  Then Roman goes back to business as usual and God knows how many girls he helps smuggle in - not even considering what happens to them once they’re here.”

“I’m not arguing with your motives,” he insisted and felt guilt prickling under his skin, “I’m just telling you I can’t help.”

“Please, Dean.  Please think about it.  Roman has a lot of friends in a lot of places and you’re really the only one I can trust.”

“The shop,” he started lamely and Bobby scoffed next to him.  

“You know Bobby will watch the shop.”

“I’ll make it work, Sam,” Bobby called, knowing Sam would hear him.  Dean glared.  Bobby lowered his voice to add, “I know you’re not choosing some rich prick’s Mustang over a woman’s life, boy.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“The hell it isn’t,” Bobby swore back.  

Dean took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Dean.  Really.”

“Yeah.”

He ended the call, letting the phone clatter to Bobby’s bench behind him.  Now he let his temper flare, blood pressure steadily rising as he considered what he was being asked to do.  There were days he could barely take care of himself, and now he was supposed to take care of someone else.

“You can do this,” Bobby said, still tinkering away without making eye contact.  He sometimes wondered if the man was a mind reader.

“Who asked you?”

“I damn well did,” Bobby snapped back, turning to face him.  “Stop being a horse’s ass.  This is something that you’re fully capable of doing and it could mean saving lives.  A whole bunch of them.”

“Then you go do it.”

“Sam didn’t ask me to do it or I would,” he replied.  “You know why?  Because it’s the right thing to do.  Your brother wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t need you.”

“I have no doubt of that.  Sam needing me isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is?”

“I’m doing good here, just being a mechanic.  Just being Dean,” he said and looked at the ceiling.  

_ What if I can’t get that back? _

He didn’t finish the rest of the statement but Bobby knew.  He always knew.

“Don’t worry about that,” Bobby said, voice softening.  He knew better than anyone what it had been like for Dean to go back to being himself.  “This’ll all be here when you get back, just like you left it.”

“You have too much faith in me, Bobby.”

“I have just enough,” the man replied gruffly.  “Well, you just go on and get back to the Mustang.  Might as well get all the work out of you that I can before you leave.”

“You’re assuming I’m leaving.”

Bobby scoffed.  “Get to work.”

Dead did, happily.  He worked on the Mustang until just after two in the morning, brain desperately trying to forget the decision that had just been thrown in his lap.  He was also trying to forget that he’d made up his mind as soon as Sam asked.  His brother didn’t ask for much, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have asked for this unless things were worse than he was letting on.  That worried him more than anything - what happened if they decided to put a contract on Sammy, too?  Maybe he was better off being nearby, just in case.

He left early the next morning, before the sun was up.


	3. I've Just Seen a Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna meet. Then they move in together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless you all for your kind attention to this story. It's going to be a rough week for me - I'm away from my husband and baby for a few days - so reading your comments has really been very uplifting. Thank you for coming with me on this little guilty pleasure adventure.

  
  


_**Chapter Two : I’ve Just Seen a Face** _

  
  
  


Donna stood in front of the tall window in Sam’s office, staring out at the crowds below.  Night had fallen about an hour ago and all the neon lights had turned on, bathing the foot traffic in splashes of color.  Any one of those people could be trying to hurt her, she realized with a shudder.  What was that?  What had her life turned into?

Her paranoia was in full swing since her last meeting in this office.  She couldn’t help it with fear invading her every pore, stealing her every breath.  It was hard for her to go outside now, even to the ice machine down the hall from her hotel room.  She'd skipped dinner last night because she didn't want to risk opening the door to a gun instead of a pizza.  The idea of anyone trying something so stupid was laughable but her whole life was laughable these days so she wasn't sure what to dismiss as crazy anymore.  The line had blurred.  

She’d locked her car up in storage once it was released from evidence and had put her apartment up for sale.  It would probably be gone by the end of next week. A few police officers were in the process of moving her things to the new one, watching for anyone who might be following them.  It baffled her that this had become commonplace - hardly anything of note.  She’d even forgotten to mention it to her mother when she’d called that morning.  Not that she told her mother very much at all about what had been going on - Joyce Hanscum would have a stroke if she knew that her daughter had found a bomb on her car and Donna had no intention of starting that conversation.  

She didn’t seem to be able to start that conversation with much of anyone, she realized with a frown.  Her friends had gotten scarce after Mr. Roman’s arrest - half of them believed she was in on it and the other half didn’t have time for her jumbled mess of a life.  They would send encouraging text messages but never be available to talk.  Empty gestures, as far as the eye could see.  And what could they say anyway?  

_ Sorry about people wanting to kill you.  Margaritas? _

So here she was.  Alone.  Looking out the prosecutor’s window, trying not to feel sorry for herself while her shoulders got heavier.

“Donna?”

She turned.  “Hmm?”

“I asked if you wanted some coffee,” Sam said with a slight smile that made the dark circles under his eyes look bigger, which only made her chest pang uncomfortably.  He was working too hard, under too much stress.  If she’d just kept her car and the stupid chocolate to herself maybe he wouldn’t have been wound so tight.  All her fault, yet again.  She was really racking them up.

“Are you having some?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah.  Coffee is pretty much a twenty-four/seven state of affairs for me.”

“Then sure, hon. Thanks.”  She watched as he walked to a small Keurig in the corner of the room, popping a pod into the top and pressing the magic button.  “How’s that pretty wife of yours doing?”

“Eileen’s great,” Sam answered and his face lit up in one of the only genuine smiles she’d ever seen on him.  “She’s working on her dissertation.  She’ll defend it in May to get her doctorate.”

“Wow,” Donna said, honestly impressed.  “She’s a worker.” 

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled.  “I thought my late nights were over after law school but now we’re both up reading until dawn.”

“At least you’ve got good company,” she observed and he nodded.

“Yeah, I do.  Can’t complain about that.”

“So, uh.  Your brother,” she started awkwardly, watching Sam start another cup.  He braced himself, looked ashamed for a quick second before recovering.  “He’s okay with helping us out?   _ Me _ out, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he answered quickly and it was easy to see the  _ sort of  _ left hanging off the end.  “It took some convincing but it had nothing to do with you, I promise.”

“I appreciate you calling in a favor to save my bacon,” she said genuinely.  “I feel like I’m getting to be a lot more trouble than I’m worth.”

Sam shook his head.  “Don’t worry about it.  If anything you’re doing Dean a favor.  I’m not sure he’s left South Dakota in years.”

“What does he do there?”

“He owns a repair shop with our uncle,” Sam said after a pause, waving her over to get her cup of joe.  She could smell it wafting across the room and it warmed her down to her bones.  She drifted over the carpet before she’d decided to move.

“And now he’s going to be a babysitter,” she joked, “He must be thrilled.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Is he nice?”

Sam scoffed.  “Sure, if you’re into complaining, classic rock, and some pretty serious bitch face.”

“He sounds fun,” she said charitably, taking the styrofoam cup he offered.  Sam towered over her, almost having to bend down to give it to her.  The coffee was tangy and bitter but it at least put some pep back in her step.  “Mmm, thank you.  So who’s older?”

“He is,” Sam answered, relaxing at least as they reached familiar territory.  “By four years.  To hear him talk you’d think it was fifty and I was still in kindergarten.”

She grinned.  “Bossy, huh?”

“Yeah,” he laughed, “Just a little.”

“I prefer to think of myself as assertive.”

Donna turned, the unfamiliar voice startling her even as her mind whispered, _ There you are. _

She couldn’t explain the stray thought but instead of an assassin she found a man.  No, a  _ god _ dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt, plaid button-up layered over it.  Her eyes went instantly to his, sucked in by the striking green.  His gaze was clear and direct, even as the rest of his body stayed loose and relaxed against the door frame.  Wide shoulders and a broad chest tapered down to a trim waist and thigh muscles that made her mouth water.  He looked calm and composed, and not at all annoyed that he’d walked in on them gossiping about him.  Meanwhile she felt like she’d been snatched into a gravitational field created just for him. 

“Dean!” Sam said excitedly and marched over to pull his big brother into a hug, nearly dwarfing the man despite that Dean had to be over six feet himself.  Dean returned the hug wholeheartedly, slapping Sam’s back.

“Hey, Sammy,” he said with a grin and nodded toward the coffee machine.  “Any of that left?  It’s been a long drive.”

“You can have mine,” Donna offered suddenly, before she’d had a chance to contemplate the words.  She held the cup out to him.  “It’s too late for caffeine.  For me, anyway.  I’ll be up all night if I have that whole thing.”

“Thanks,” he said slowly, taking the cup.  “You’re Donna, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing right,” she said and offered a big smile along with her hand.  “Donna Hanscum. You must be Dean Winchester.”

“Nice to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand.  She watched him as he took a long drink, sighing in satisfaction.  The cords of muscle in his throat held her fascinated to the point of forgetting why he was there in the first place.  He groaned, “Oh, thank God.  I haven’t been able to find drip coffee in three hours.  Everything here is served with that god-awful fake milk and some kind of syrup.”

“And here I had you pegged for a chocolate chip frappuccino kind of guy,” she joked and he scoffed.

“Not a chance.”  He drained the rest of the cup.  “That’s not coffee, that’s a milkshake.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He smirked.  “Fair enough.  Sam, make me another couple of those and then we can talk.  Put a shot of bourbon in it and I’ll be happy about talking.”

Donna saw Sam roll his eyes and throw another pod in the machine like it was a huge inconvenience.  

_ Oh yah _ , she thought.   _ They’re brothers alright. _

 

**…**

 

It took Dean the better part of three days to get to New York.  Part of it was traffic, the other fatigue, and maybe a little bit that he was still debating turning around and going back to South Dakota.  The temptation was there, burrowing under his skin, all the way up until the moment he’d walked through Sam’s door and laid eyes on her.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, not really, so it was a particularly nasty shock to come in and realize that she was beautiful.

The woman he assumed was Donna was dressed in dark leggings and an oversized denim shirt that cinched under her chest and flowed out to swirl around her like the ocean.  Long blonde hair fell down her back in waves, forcing his eyes to track the generous curve of her hips as she kept her back turned, talking with Sammy in a sunny voice that hinted at a hometown somewhere up north.  Wisconsin, maybe.  Then he’d spoken and she faced him with those dark doe eyes, pinning him in place.  Her flash of fear was palpable, calmed only when Sammy called his name.  He suddenly wished he’d knocked instead of just barging in.

Then she offered him her own coffee, not noticing or not caring about the slight lipstick imprint on the side.  She introduced herself with a firm handshake and a smile that lit up her face, making him forget for a split second why he was there.  The back of his mind had started whispering about trouble as soon as their eyes met but it was too late now - the damage was done.

Once they all got situated, Sam took a seat behind his desk and invited the two of them to take the chairs facing his.  Dean let Donna sit first, downing his second coffee and throwing it into the wastebasket next to the desk.  The caffeine had started to work its way through his system and the bleariness faded to the edges of his awareness.  Just in time, because listening to Sam detail Dick Roman’s crimes made his stomach churn.  It had been a long time since he’d had to attend a debriefing and come to find out he didn’t miss them.

He snuck a look at Donna, who took turns between staring at her hands in her lap and out the window.

Guilt poured off of her in waves.  They were so strong Dean could nearly reach out and touch them.  In just a few moments all the color had faded from her face, leaving her pale and dimmer than the ray of sunshine he’d met a few minutes ago.  It wasn’t hard to figure out that Donna felt responsible for what her boss did.  

“That’s a whole lot of fucked up,” he commented bluntly, his brother nodding his head.

“Yeah,” Sam said, sighing deeply.  “That about sums it up.”

“What made Dick change his mind?” Dean asked.  “He got arrested last year.  Why is he just now trying to do something about it?”

“He just now figured out that he’s not getting away with it,” Sam said easily, leaning back in his chair.  “They’ve been dragging me into court for months, trying for a dismissal.  Now they’re doing the next best thing and trying to get all my evidence thrown out.”

Donna gingerly raised her hand.  “That would be me.”

“She’s my whole case, Dean.  She knows everything.  People, places, times.  How he codes his personal and business entries in his ledgers,” Sam said earnestly.  “She blew all of this wide open - without her, God only knows how long he could have gotten away with it.  Maybe decades.  No one on our side was even looking in his direction.”

“Good thing you came along,” Dean observed, trying his best to be kind.  It still came out mildly sarcastic to his own ears.  “So he trusted you, huh?”

“Organized every part of his life for five years,” she said and went back to staring at the floor.  “Knew the man inside and out.  Or at least I thought I did.”

“That means he knows you, too,” Dean pointed out.  “Even the small stuff that you would never expect him to notice.  And if he knows you, then the people he’s hired probably do, too.”

“Yah,” she acknowledged, clearing her throat.  “Yah, I figured that too.”

“Is there anything Dick knows about you that might make you vulnerable?  Email password, security codes, anything like that?”

She shook her head.  “I’ve deleted all my old email accounts, closed my old bank accounts, got a new phone and a new phone number.  Just got a new apartment in another part of town.  All my social media accounts have been deactivated.  I’m off the grid - as much as possible, anyway.” 

“You've been lectured already, I take it.”

“Sam and Detective Trenton have done so much,” she said, sparing his brother a wide smile.  “If it wasn't for them I wouldn't have known to check my car in the first place.  Detective Trenton even took me to self defense classes.  But they can't be with me all the time, and they shouldn't be, so here I am.”

“And you're okay with me being with you all the time?” he asked frankly, “Because that's kind of how this works.”

“I'm not so stubborn as to think I don't need help,” she replied. “I just really don't want to be a bother to everyone else - they’re all working hard enough as it is.  But… um,” she laughed uncomfortably, “But I also don’t really want to kick the bucket yet, so to speak.  So if you're okay with being stuck to me, then so am I.”

He was warming up to the idea. 

“I am grateful, by the way,” she said, looking shyly down at her hands.  “I know you don’t have to do this so… thank you.”

Dean nodded, unsure of what else to say.  

“You heading home soon, Sammy?” he asked and looked down at his watch.  It was closing in on nine o’clock.  “Eileen is probably wondering where you are.”

“Yeah, probably.  I forgot to mention that you were coming in tonight,” he said, standing and reaching for his jacket on the back of his chair.  “You two okay?”

“Terrific,” Dean answered, looking over Donna.

“I’ll try not to scare him off on his first day,” she joked with a wink in his direction.

He had a feeling Donna couldn’t scare anyone if she tried.

“What do you say?” she asked him, “I bet you’ve had a long couple of days.  Can I buy you dinner?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, threatening to smile.  “Yeah, you could talk me into that.  Let's go before I fall asleep on my feet.”

 

**…**

 

“So, you're going to have to tell me where I'm going here,” Dean told her stiffly as they pulled into traffic. “I'm not exactly a local.” 

“Me either,” she replied.  God, his car smelled like man and leather.  It was all she could do not to drool on her shirt.  She giggled awkwardly, “If you couldn't already tell from my accent.” 

“I did notice that,” he said, stopping at a light. “Wisconsin?”

“Minnesota.  You?”

“Kansas.”

She grinned.  “Any trips to Oz recently?”

“Not in a few years,” he replied, completely deadpan.  “So where to?”

“Depends on what you want.  Anything you're hankering for?” 

He arched an eyebrow. “Hankering?”

“Hush,” she ordered playfully and he didn’t seem to mind.  “Chinese?”

“Nah.” 

“Mexican?”

“Pass.”

“Italian?” she tried again.

Dean shook his head.  She was getting ready to accuse him of being a picky eater.

She sighed. “Pizza?”

“Pizza is Italian.”

“We put hotdogs in our crust.  I think the Italians would argue with ya on that one.”

“Well, what do  _ you  _ want?” he asked asked, looking over at her.  “I'm driving around in circles here.” 

She thought about it.  “I would kill for a cheeseburger.  Well, maybe not kill.  Maybe just kick some shins pretty good.” 

“Not mine, I'm driving.  Where to?”

“Hang a left at the next light…”

Dean was happy to swing them through a drive-thru with buzzing neon lights, their signs promising pure greasy satisfaction.  Donna paid, obviously, and she saw the slight pang of discomfort on her companion’s face.  Still, he said a very polite thank you and followed her directions to the hotel where she’d been staying the last few days.  He parked the car and popped the trunk while she collected their food in her arms.  He went around to the back of the car before pulling out an olive green duffle packed to capacity.  

“That it?” she asked, nodding at his single piece of luggage and sipping her milkshake.

He looked surprised that she asked.  “It’s all I need.”

“Okie-doke,” she said and waited while Dean slung the bag over his shoulder. 

She looked over at him as they walked across the parking lot, bracing herself against the cool rain as it started to sprinkle.  He marched with his head up and eyes straight ahead, the line of his shoulders suggesting that he had thrown a punch or two and wasn’t worried about racking up another.  Still, his eyes were calm.  He stayed confidently quiet, feeling no need to fill the silence created in between the beats of their footsteps on the pavement.  Before laying eyes on Dean she’d honestly thought men like this didn’t exist outside of the paperbacks she still hid under her mattress.  Now one was coming up to her hotel room with her.

Donna gulped.

Maybe she shouldn’t have thought about it that way.

“I like the tough guy look, by the way,” she said before she could stop herself.  Dean looked over in surprise.  “No one’s messing with me anytime soon, not with you glaring daggers at everyone.”

He chuckled, breaking into a smile for a second.  “That’s the idea.”  

“That’s why you’re the brains of this operation.”

“What does that make you?” he asked, maybe moving just an inch closer than he was a second ago.  

She put her dukes up, takeout bags and all.

“The muscle, obviously.” 

A laugh escaped him and she grinned.  God help her, it was great.  She couldn’t get more than a chuckle or two out of Sam but she’d adopt a sketch comedy routine for more of the gravelly laugh that just came from his brother.  Maybe this was going to work out - she didn’t mind at all that they were going to be spending a lot of time together.  

Or so she thought, until the teenager at the front desk noticed the two of them coming in.  Donna had taken a liking to her over the last few days, sometimes chatting her up in between customers when an afternoon was slow and she was bored.  Tina was an outgoing theater student with giant glasses, an eyebrow ring, and apparently the mind of a twelve-year-old boy.  Her eyes just about bugged out of her head when she saw Dean at Donna’s side.  She grinned at Donna stupidly, waving and completely ignoring the fact that Donna was frantically shaking her head.

“Hey!” Tina whispered at her loud enough for the entire hotel to hear her, “Good job!”

Sigh.  Too late. 

Tina offered two enthusiastic thumbs up, wiggling them in the air, and Donna waited to crumble into a pile of humiliated ash that would somehow still be dying of embarrassment.  Dean looked at her in confusion before realization dawned and he smirked.  He returned Tina’s thumbs-up with a triumphant one of his own, holding it up until after they’d turned the corner and headed toward the elevator.

“Friend of yours?” he asked as they got in.  Donna managed to avoid eye contact by furiously mashing the button for the fifth floor.

“Ha.  Um, yah.  Sorta.  It gets lonely in the hotel sometimes so we talk,” she said, clearing her throat.  She offered him a tight smile.  “About boys and stuff.  And TV shows.  Wholesome, mature things like that.”

“Is that why she thinks you went out to pick up some tail?” he asked, clearly amused and enjoying her discomfort.  

“Technically  _ you _ drove  _ me _ here, so…”

“I guess that’s true.”  The doors opened with a chime and Dean fought to suppress a smile.  “Lead the way, maneater.”

She was totally not sharing her french fries with Tina tonight.

That girl could starve.

Donna swiped her way into the room and tossed the keycard to the side, flicking on the lights as she went.  It was a modest hotel room, well worn and due for an update, but it was clean and it wasn’t in a bad neighborhood.  That was good enough for her.  

“Welcome to my temporary abode,” she said, doing her best to leave the awkwardness at the door.  “On the right you’ll find a tiny kitchenette, which opens to the master bedroom with an even tinier bathroom.  On the left you’ll find a wall with a mirror that hangs crooked and directly ahead you’ll see the living area, complete with a smudged window and a cloudy view of the parking lot.”

“Awesome,” he said, observing his surroundings and setting his bag down beside the TV before collapsing backwards onto the couch.  “I’m guessing my brother and the cops have told you to keep everything locked at all times.  Deadbolts included.”

“Yup,” she answered easily, toeing her shoes off and laying the takeout bags on the coffee table.  “Come on, we can talk rules tomorrow.  Let’s eat.  Can I share the couch with you?”

“Uh, yeah,” he sand and scooted to one side.  It wasn’t a big couch so she appreciated him making room.  

He watched as she curled up next to him, reaching for one greasy bag to hand it to him before digging into her own.  It was a little cold at that point but she didn’t mind - she was hungry and it was the first time in a while that she’d had an actual meal, even if it was fast food.  Living from vending machines didn’t offer a whole lot of satisfaction and she was running out of quarters anyway.

They shared a little more conversation but it was punctuated with yawns from both sides.  Dean was asleep before she even finished her burger, half slipping off couch.  His head was tilted back and his long legs stretched out in front of him, making him look like a giant on the tiny piece of furniture.  Doing her best to be quiet, Donna finished her meal and picked up the trash. At a loss of what else to do she pulled a pillow and the duvet off her bed to share with him.  She sat both on the end of the couch so that they were there when he inevitably woke up in a few minutes with a sore neck and wanted to reposition.  

Sure now that he was taken care of, Donna rechecked all the locks and turned off the lights.  She undressed with an ear to the door and tied her hair up.  When she climbed into bed she was keenly aware that Dean was just outside but she was too tired to get herself worked up over it.  There was always time for that tomorrow.

  
  



	4. Two of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna settle in and find their new normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TGIF, y'all. Thanks for all the feedback - all this praise has had me writing like crazy. <3

  
  


_**Chapter Three : Two of Us** _

  
  
  


It was close to ten before Donna woke - halfway through the morning for Dean, who was up by at least six every day.  Earlier if he had a rough night.  For being stuck on a couch he'd slept remarkably well, the stiff couch cushions well within his realm of normal.  

He'd already snuck to the bathroom to shower and dress by the time Donna graced him with her presence. He watched, amused, as she shuffled out of the bedroom with her hair in a messy knot at the top of her head.  A pair of baggy sweatpants and an oversized Bob Marley shirt dwarfed her curvy frame, making her look like a rumpled stoner as she dug through the kitchen cabinets to pull out a box of Lucky Charms and clutch it to her chest.  She was completely silent as she tracked into the living room and sat next to him on the couch.  Grabbing a handful of dry cereal for herself, she set the box down on the coffee table and slid it over to him with her foot.  Not even a hint of a smile appeared on her face.  

Was it possible the ray of sunshine wasn't a morning person? 

“You know, some people have milk with this,” he said gently and got nothing but an outright glare in return.  “Maybe even mix it all together in a bowl, if they’re feeling spontaneous.”

Her foot crept back out and hooked the box, dragging it away from him.  

“That how it's gonna be?” he asked, scowling.  

Donna scowled right back.  

“Fine.  See if I make you any coffee.”

He did, of course.  The hotel’s coffee pot made eight cups at a time and it seemed petty to try and drink them all himself. He even went the extra mile and gauged how much milk she wanted in it by the severity of her gaze in his direction.  He took a guess and decided to add sugar, going on little more than her choice in cereal.  When he handed her the mug it had swirled into the color and sweetness of a maple-covered donut and Donna looked at it like she might cry.  She took it from him eagerly, finally offering a grateful smile once half of it was gone. The clock on the wall read half-past ten. 

“You good?” Dean asked suspiciously.  

She grinned.  “Right as rain.  Good morning.” 

“Morning,” he answered.  “Can I talk to you now?”

“Please do.”  She took another long drink and smiled at him serenely.  “How did you sleep out here?  I should have offered you the bed, sorry.”

“Just fine,” he answered.  “You?”

She sighed.  “As well as I can on a lumpy brick mattress.”

“See?  Everything’s coming up roses.  What are your plans for today?” he asked, heading back to refill his own cup.  He checked his watch.  “Well, the last half of today.”

“Yah, yah.  I overslept, so sue me.  I don’t make plans much anymore,” she told him wearily while she grabbed another handful of dry cereal.  She tried to shrug but the pained expression on her face told him how much that bothered her.  

“So what do you do all day?”

“Since Sam put me here I’ve been watching a whole lot of Bonanza,” she told him.  “The morning talk shows started boring me to death yesterday morning.  I hit the vending machines around noon.  In the late afternoon I go talk to Tina.”

“Tina?”

“The hostess downstairs, behind the desk,” she clarified and he thought of the kid with the glasses who’d given Donna the thumbs-up the night before.

“Right,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting every so slightly up.  “Your buddy.”

“Not anymore,” he heard her mutter under her breath, pretending that he couldn’t hear her.  “We chat for a few hours and then it’s more vending machines.  Eventually I pass out.”

The sad schedule of the only frat guy not invited to spring break.

“No offense,” Dean started, “I’m all for junk food, but I feel like I’d empty those machines by the end of the day.”

“Probably, yah,” she said with a resigned sigh.  “But getting out has been a little tricky these days.  I’ll get a few blocks away from the hotel and then my brain starts to think things.”

“Things like?” 

She shook her head, shutting down.  “Nothing.  Forget I said anything.”

Dean frowned, leaning back against the kitchen counter.  He could see her sullen face from over the small bar above the sink.  It was interesting to him that she would pretend to be angry rather than show him she was afraid.  

“I realize we just met,” he started, setting his mug down next to him to place his hands in his pockets, “And I know something about wanting to keep this stuff close to the chest.  That being said, this is the kind of thing I’d like you to tell me about.  We’re sort of in this together.”

She offered him a tired smile.  “You poor thing.”

“Hey,” Dean shot back as he walked into the living room, “I’ve already gotten dinner and a place to sleep out of the deal.  Life is good from where I’m sitting.”  He sat on the couch next to her, pleased she didn’t scoot away.  “The company’s not bad either.”

“So far,” she added but her tone was light.

“So far,” he agreed.  “Unless it’s just the grocery store that freaks you out, anyway.  Someone who runs screaming from the produce section might be a little hard to handle.”

Donna rolled her eyes dramatically.  “Yah, obviously not.”

“So what’s going on there?” he asked.  “Is it the cashiers?  Because I’m not a fan of the vests either.”

“No, I just have these random thoughts come into my head out of nowhere,” she sighed.  “Like how the car coming up the street is going to jump the curb and hit me.”  She took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the floor.  “Or the nice boy at the register is only offering to help me carry my bags because someone paid him to find out where I’m staying.”

“It blows to have fear be in charge of your life,” he commented softly, understanding how simple chores could become a minefield.  “Good thing you’ve got someone to glare daggers at them.”

Donna looked up at him with a smirk.  “No kidding.  With a little concentration you could probably flip the car.”

“How do you think I get to the undercarriage in the shop?”

Her head tilted back in a deep laugh and his insides warmed a little, her voice ringing in his ears.  

“What do you say?” he offered, “Let’s get out of here for a little while, get some real food.  I’ll even let you make the list.”

“I love lists,” she replied seriously and polished off the rest of her coffee.  “You've got a deal.  Let me freshen up and we’ll go.”

 

**…**

 

“What kind of psychopath likes chunky better than smooth?”

“The kind who enjoys a texture other than baby food.”

“Or the kind who likes to dig shards out of their teeth every few bites.”

Donna rolled her eyes, tossing the chunky peanut butter into their cart.  Dean looked at her stubbornly and tossed his own jar of creamy in right beside it.  He set his face in an expression that was clearly intended to be a dare - he  _ dared  _ her to take it out.  She seriously considered it for a second, just for entertainment’s sake - there was a chance Dean was willing to fight her to the death over peanut butter.  But then she pushed the cart forward and they were on to the next argument - undoubtedly he wanted only pure grape jelly that reminded her of her childhood’s cough syrup.  She grabbed a jar of strawberry preserves and arched a brow, inviting sass.  

“Well?” she asked.

Dean zipped his lips.  

The man was clearly a genius.

This was their third such argument since walking into the store twenty minutes ago.  The first had been about apples - Dean was adamantly opposed to granny smith, apparently - and the second had been Donna’s complete distaste for tomatoes.  She’d started to suspect that he was starting fights to distract her from being nervous in public but she’d play along.  It was fun and she was getting a little window into the man who had put his normal life on pause and volunteered to come from South Dakota just to babysit her.

For instance, Dean liked pie.

He didn’t put a single bakery box in the cart but she watched his eyes drift over them like some men look at women - dark and dangerous, like he couldn’t wait to warm them up and get a taste.  It made her skin get a little shivery when she saw it. 

Dean liked simple food.

Burgers, bacon and eggs.  Mashed potatoes.  Peanut butter and jelly and macaroni and cheese.  The classics.  Food that sat in your stomach for a while and slowly but surely shaved weeks off the end of your lifespan.  He ate like the food’s only job was to comfort him - sustenance was an afterthought.

Dean loved his brother.

He threw a few oranges, some whole wheat health food bars, and a bag of kale into the cart in case Sam came over.  Despite the fact that Sam was in his mid-thirties, Dean still felt the need to make sure his little brother was fed.  

Dean maybe had a problem with alcohol.

Not anymore, but at one point.  Donna had offered to pick up a six-pack and Dean looked for a moment like he wanted to say yes before shaking his head.  He’d given her an excuse along the lines of needing to be sober but the longing there was undisguised for a quick minute.  She didn’t push the issue - she respected his decisions and admired the heck out of his restraint.  

She liked him.

Liked his surly expression and dry sense of humor that occasionally drifted to the immature.  She liked his bowlegged walk and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes.  Loved the way he handed a box of cereal back to a toddler who had just dropped it and started crying.  Kindness was a big mark in his favor.  The weight of unfamiliarity lifted with the realization that she found herself trusting him.  Sam certainly did, and that bought Dean a whole lotta real estate in the trust department.  It felt good to have a bit of dry land in the middle of a sea of people wanting to drown her.  

“What’s that look for?” Dean asked as they headed for a register.

“What look?”

“You’re smiling at me,” he continued.  “What did you do?  Did you put my peanut butter back?”

“I wish.  I’m just thinking about the division of labor when we start carting all this up to the hotel room,” she said and he grimaced.

“Maybe we went a little overboard,” he ventured and then shrugged it off.  “Whatever.  I can carry it.”

“I look forward to seeing that.”

She really, really did.

They loaded their bounty onto the conveyor belt, wincing with every new bag placed back into the cart. The sweetheart tried to pay but she didn’t let him - she was the damsel in distress, after all.  She could at least pull some of the weight of keeping them alive by feeding them.  He agreed to a fifty-fifty split that suited her just fine.  They loaded everything into the Impala and hit the road, stopping briefly at her request for coffee.  She met Dean’s judging gaze head-on as she ordered a large mocha with whipped cream.

“Got something to say, Winchester?”

He put his eyes back on the road.  

“Not a thing.”

They got back to the hotel and were suddenly faced with moving their bounty up five floors.  Again, Dean swore he could do it.  Watching him shove bags down both arms was just as delightful as she’d hoped it would be - his biceps alone were worth the ticket price, and that didn’t even take his back into consideration.  Planes of muscle worked under his plaid shirt, drawing her eyes and turning her knees to jelly.  She barely suppressed the urge to fan herself.  If you’re going to have a constant shadow, he might as well be pretty - that was her motto.  Starting now.  

Dean called over his shoulder, “You coming or what?”

_ Not yet, _ she thought.   _ Give me a few minutes. _

What left her mouth was, “Right behind you!”

Donna stayed strategically behind him while he carried their things through the hotel’s automatic doors and into the elevator.  She had to give up her view to let them into the room, benevolently letting Dean go in first so he could drop their bags onto the narrow counters.  

“Ha!” he cried happily, “One trip.”

Donna shook her head and slid the deadbolt home.  “Proud of yourself, huh?”

“Very.”

“Alright, tough guy, get out of my way so I can put all this up,” she groused playfully, elbowing him.  “There’s not room for both of us in this here kitchen.”

“No wonder you were such a good assistant,” Dean marveled as he stepped around the other side of the bar.  

“How’s that?”

“You’re bossy but you’re nice enough that people don’t notice,” he observed casually and Donna threw her head back, laughing.  

“Ah, you may have a point there,” she said, tossing a package of lunch meat into the refrigerator.  “I do miss it.  Organizing other people’s lives is a terrific excuse not to look too hard at your own.  Also, you get to boss people around without being ‘the boss’.  What’s not to love?”

“Are you going to go back to it?” he asked, hopping up onto a barstool so he could watch her work.  “You know, once you get back to real life.”

She shrugged.  “Maybe.  I don’t think I’d get hired, though.  All it would take is a Google search to find out that I’m a snitch.”

“What?” Dean looked bewildered.  “Donna, that’s not what you did.  You saved those girls.”

She waved him off, dismissing the praise out of hand.  It was impossible for her to accept the congratulations when she knew the truth.

“Let’s wait until Dick Roman is behind bars before I start patting myself on the back,” she said, loading a few bags of fruit into the crisper.  “Besides, after the trial is finished I get to start over.  Do what I want.  The world is my oyster.”

She didn’t mention that the only thing her oyster contained was Minnesota and a job at her dad’s hardware store.

“Gonna go try your hand at Broadway?”

“Oh yah,” she snorted, “You can be my first victim.  I know every word of that song from  _ Frozen. _ ”  He made a face that indicated physical pain and she laughed, tossing another empty shopping bag to the side.  “Hey, it was your idea.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“What would you do?” she asked.  “You know, if you got to do anything?”

Dean thought about it for a moment and shrugged.  “Fix cars, I guess.”

“So you’re already in your dream job,” she surmised.  “Lucky.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Donna finished putting the rest of the groceries away and threw together a couple of sandwiches for lunch, handing Dean a plate piled high with chips.  It wasn’t exactly gourmet but still he beamed at her like she’d offered a five-course meal on a silver platter - she was pretty sure she’d discovered the key to this guy's affections and didn't mind using it to her advantage, not when he smiled wide enough for his eyes to wrinkle.  That smile was dangerous.  When she grabbed her plate and sat next to him on the couch he did nothing but grin and her the remote.

“Bonanza?” he asked.

“Hit me.”

It didn’t occur to her until the middle of the afternoon that she hadn’t been afraid once all day.


	5. Don't Come Around Here No More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The comfortable couple have a close call.

  
  
  


_**Chapter Four : Don’t Come Around Here No More** _

  
  
  
  


Their lives continued that way for a while.

Breakfast and coffee.

Conversation.

Lunch.

Bonanza.

Dinner, taking turns cooking.

Conversation until one or both of them was yawning too much to continue.

Donna had settled into a happy routine, forgetting about much of her life before the hotel room.  If she got stir crazy she would go down and talk to Tina.  Dean even came with her a few times, until he relaxed and realized that Tina wasn’t going to gank her.  Now he used that time to call his brother and his uncle, who was running his shop in his absence.  She was almost sad when Sam let her know that her new apartment was ready - all she needed was to check out of the hotel and pick up her new key from the building’s office.  They started packing that night, planning to roll out the next morning.

“Shouldn’t you be excited?” Dean asked as he stuffed clothes back into his duffel bag.  “I mean, your own place again.  Your own bed, your own sheets.  No one’s stains but yours to wonder about.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “Thanks for that.”

“Happy to help.”

“I am excited,” she insisted, “But this has been kind of fun.  Like camping, without the bears.”

“Or a tent.  Or a campfire.  Or being outdoors.”

“Smart alleck.  You know what I mean.”

“It was a break,” he filled in.

“Yah, that,” she sighed.  “But this is for the better.  I at least have a spare bedroom for ya.  There’s no way that couch is good for your back.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, “I’ve had much worse sleeping conditions.”

“Well, you’re taking a timeout from your life for me so I think I will do some worrying, thanks.”  She wiggled her eyebrows at him.  “And not to brag, but my TV is pretty big.  Like, it takes up half the wall.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” he said, closing up his bag and tossing it to the side.  “Alright, what’s left?  We can grab the food in the morning.  Well, close to noon, when you finally crawl out of bed.”

She glared.  “Watch it, buddy.  I’ll leave you here.”

“You going to carry all this down?  To my car?  With the keys that are in my pocket?”

“Maybe I will,” she huffed, sticking her nose in the air.  “I can lift things.  I do CrossFit.”

The room phone rang, making them both jump.  It had been completely silent for the week and a half they’d been there and Donna couldn’t help the slight uptick in her pulse at the sound.  She reached for the phone, internally berating herself for being a scaredy-cat.  

“Hello?” she answered, immediately relieved to hear Tina’s voice on the line. 

“Donna?”

“Hey, hon.  What’s up?  You hungry?” she asked, “I’ve got more peanut butter and jelly than I know what to do with.  I can run some down if you want.”

“No thanks.  Um, hey, is Dean there?”

“What?” she asked, taken aback.  “Uh, yah.  Here, hold on.”

Dean looked up, confused when she held the phone out to him. 

“It’s for you,” she told him.  “Tina.”

He frowned, accepting it like it might be poisonous before putting it to his ear.  “Hey, Tina.  What’s shaking?”

Donna couldn’t hear Tina’s side of the conversation but she could read Dean’s one-word answers and deepening scowl like a book.  He didn’t like whatever it was he was hearing.  Lord knows what she could say to tick the man off but it wasn’t good.

“Hold on, I’ll be down in a sec,” he said and hung up the phone before turning to Donna.  “I’m running downstairs for a few minutes.  Stay here, lock the door behind me and don’t unlock it for anyone but me.  If I knock twice, let me in.  If I knock three times call Sam and lock yourself in the bathroom.”

Her stomach hit the floor.  “What’s going on?”

“Maybe nothing,” he said, “I’ll be back.”

He took off out the door like a flash, leaving her in a daze.  She stared at the closed door like it might jump out and bite her.

“Donna!” Dean called from the other side.  “Lock it!”

Oops.  

Right. 

She slid the deadbolt home and leaned against the door, listening to his heavy boots walk away.  Her heart hammered in her chest and suddenly she felt like her dinner might be staging a comeback.  

What in the world was going on down there?

 

**…**

 

Dean hit the button for the ground floor and felt anxious energy sizzling through his limbs.  Tina’s shaking voice on the phone had jumpstarted his adrenaline and it had only gotten worse by the time she finished talking.  The kid didn’t seem the type to scare easily and she sounded like someone had put the fear of God into her.  He didn’t like thinking about what kind of people would want to scare a mousy college kid for information.

She was behind the desk when he came around the corner, still clutching the phone like a lifeline with both eyes trained on the door.  

“Hey,” he said and winced when she jumped.  “It’s me, it’s fine.”

“Jeez!” she cried accusingly.  “Make some noise, why don’t you?  I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Sorry,” he answered.  “So, what happened?”

“Two guys with dark hair in dark suits and boring ties,” she answered, eyes darting to the door as she spoke.  “They said they were cops.  They came up to the desk and I asked if they were checking in and they said no, they were looking for someone.  They showed me a picture of Donna.  I mean, I think it was Donna.  The woman in the picture was really happy so it took me a second.”

He'd think about that more later. 

“I didn't really think they were cops, though.  It was the accents. Can foreigners be cops?”

“If they're citizens, yeah,” he answered.  “What kind of accents?”

“English.  But one sounded richer than the other.  Like, fancier.  And that one had a better suit, too.”

Tina was more observant than he'd been giving her credit for. 

“What did they tell you about her?”

“They said she was a murderer!” she shrieked indignantly, dark hair falling in her eyes before getting swept away again.  “As if Donna could hurt a fricking fly.  Please.  But they said she stole some money from her old job and killed the guy who caught her and could I please tell them if I’d seen her.”

“I’m guessing you said no.”

“Of course I fricking said no!” she yelled and Dean winced.  A group of guests passing through the lobby looked at her like she was crazy but Tina didn't seem to care.  “Sorry.  Yeah, I said no.  Because maybe Donna’s backstory is a little spotty and there's a lot she's not telling me but there’s no way she’s a killer.  For real.  Right?”

“You’re right,” he assured her.  “Did they say anything else or did they just leave?”

“They, uh,” she started uncomfortably, “They asked me about my car.”

“Your car?”

She nodded, clearing her throat.  “They asked if that was my Toyota in the staff parking spot and said it may not be safe there.  And then they asked again if I was sure I hadn't seen her.  It kind of felt… it felt off, like a threat.  Or a dare.”

Dean frowned.  It may have just been an intimidation tactic but he wasn't about to dismiss it considering Donna's car had a bomb strapped to it a few weeks ago.  He would give it a once over.  He may not have been a part of the Bomb Disposal Unit but he knew cars and could see if something didn’t belong.

“I did the right thing, didn't I?” she asked softly and it reminded him just how young she was.  “I mean, you're here to protect her right?”

“What do you mean?” he asked nonchalantly. 

“She's scared a lot, even when she tries to laugh and goof off and stuff.  Not as much since you've been here so that kind of makes me think you came to help,” she said matter-of-factly.  “Either that or this has been the longest one night stand ever.”

“I've got her,” he swore, admitting nothing.  “Scout’s honor.”

“Please.  You were so not a Boy Scout.”

He balked.  “How do you know?”

“Your shoes are tied wrong,” she said as though he were an idiot and should have known.  “That's clearly not a viable knot.” 

“Alright then,” he deadpanned. “Sit tight.  I'm going to look at your car real quick.  I'll try not to trip on my shoelaces on my way out.”

Tina snickered behind him as he headed for the door. He waved without turning back and reached for his phone, his thumb automatically searching out his brother’s number as he walked.  Sam answered on the second ring, sounding distracted. 

“This is Sam.”

Dean replied robotically, “This is Dean.”

“Oh, hey,” Sam said, voice warming instantly.  “Sorry, I didn't look to see who was calling.  What's up?”

“We've got a problem,” he informed him, heading for the little black Toyota covered in bumper stickers that he assumed represented bands.  Some of them sounded like they might be exorcisms. 

“What?  Is everything okay?”

“We're fine but some guys showed up to the hotel today, showing Donna’ picture and pretending to be cops.” 

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dean replied, grunting as he crouched down to look under the car.  “Anyone else know we’re here?”

“Just me,” he said, exhaling loudly.  “So either Roman hired a psychic or they’re just scouring the area in hopes of something turning up.”

“No, they knew she was here,” Dean said, going mainly on his gut.  “Which makes me wonder who you sold us out to, Sammy.”

“Oh, please,” Sam scoffed loudly in his ear.  “Don’t start.  I did write the address down on a sticky note somewhere on my desk - it’s possible someone got a peek at it.”

“That kind of implies that someone in your office is a rat.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m on it.  What are you going to do?”

“I'm thinking we get the hell out of Dodge while the getting’s good,” Dean told him.  “Any chance we can get into her apartment tonight?”

“I could probably threaten some people,” Sam mused and he could hear papers rustling on the background.  “Give me an hour.”

“Done.  Call me when you have something.” 

“Will do.  Bye.” 

Tina’s car was fine, just as he assumed it would be.  The locks hadn't been tampered with and the undercarriage had no exposed wires or blinking red lights.  The implied threat had been a pretty good scare but they hadn't followed through.  And why would they?  They had no proof Tina wasn't telling them the truth. It was more likely that they were into scaring teenage girls for kicks. He told her as much when he went back in and the relief on her face was palpable. 

“That’s one less thing to worry about, at least,” she said, leaning back in her chair to stare at the ceiling.

“Hey, how much longer are you going to be at work?” he asked, leaning over the desk.  

“Another two and a half hours.  KB comes in at midnight.”

“Okay, we're checking out earlier than planned.  Could I talk you into processing it a little later?  Say, right before you leave?  I want to have a head start if someone comes in asking when you’re not here.”

She nodded.  “Yeah, no problem.”

“Is there a back entrance to this place?” he asked as an afterthought. “Like, a service entrance?” 

“Yeah, there's the employee entrance.  Most of us just come through the front doors but there are some cleaning staff who use it because all their equipment is back there to begin with.” 

“Well, I'm going to use it here in a few minutes.  That okay?”

“Go for it, dude.  You're in charge.”

He didn't feel in charge - he felt like he was scrambling for an out that should have already been prepared.  Goddamn it, he was slipping.  He was out of practice and it was costing them precious time.  It was his job to think of these things.  His volunteer job, but still.  He'd promised to take care of her until the trial and he'd gotten lazy.  He wouldn't be surprised if Donna told him to get his crap and head back to South Dakota.  This was why he’d tried to tell Sam that he wasn’t a safe bet.

Berating himself was a habit he slipped into easily, even as he hurried back up to their room.  Imagining Donna’s furious face was a breeze, could even hear her voice telling him to get lost.  It made him drag his feet a little, wanting to put off getting to their door as long as he could.  Still, he was there in less than a minute.  He shuffled from side to side as he knocked twice, leaving space in between so Donna could easily distinguish them.  He heard the lock slide back instantly and he opened his mouth to apologize but her arms were wrapped around his neck before he got the chance. 

She was warm and soft, pulling him closer with every second that passed between them.  Dean could smell the warm milk and honey of her shampoo and could feel her heart beating against his chest.  She hugged him like he was coming home from war and didn’t intend on letting go anytime soon.  It floored him.  His arms came up to wrap around her of their own accord - he couldn’t have stopped it anymore than he could have stopped breathing.

“Hey,” he said softly.  “You okay?”

“I was just worried, that’s all,” she said, taking a deep breath.  “You were gone a little while.  I was afraid something had happened.”

“To me?”

She pulled back to look at him like he was crazy.  “Yeah, to you.  I’m locked up like Rapunzel with split ends.  You’re down there on your own.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, fighting a smirk before straightening up and bringing his arms back down to his side.  “Come on, we have to go.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he replied as she released him and stepped aside to let him in.  He shut the door behind him and surveyed what still had to be done before they could go.  “Moving day is coming a little early.  Sam’s working on getting you a key tonight.”

“What happened?” she asked, heading for the fridge to start pouring their groceries into a couple of leftover plastic bags.

“Fake cops, showing pictures of you,” he answered.  “Tina’s got your back, though.  She didn’t tell them anything.”

“Is she okay?”

“Just a little shaken up.  She’ll be fine.”

“Oh, thank heavens.”

He didn’t mention the car thing.  There was a chance Donna would lose it and he needed her sharp so they could get the hell out of there.  

They worked in silence for a few minutes, Dean taking over the kitchen while Donna finished packing the few personal items she’d been able to bring with her.  It was remarkably little when it was all stacked by the door and it looked like she’d noticed - she stared at the pile sadly, as though realizing that this was all her life amounted to anymore.  It would get better, he told himself.  She was going home tonight; a new home, but still a home.

“Got the key cards?” he asked as he grabbed his duffel to swing it over his shoulder.  

“Right here, both of them.”

“Alright, we’re going to get all of this in one go and head to the back,” he told her, loading more bags into his arms.  Donna put on a backpack and gripped her suitcase tightly.  “Go right at the elevators instead of left and there will be a side door that says ‘employees only’.  You’re going to wait there until I bring the car around.  I’ll slip Tina the cards on my way out.  Got it?”

“Yah.”

“And if something happens just scream like crazy,” he instructed and her eyes widened.  “I’m not expecting anything to happen.  I just don’t want to take the chance that they’re still watching.”

She nodded.  “Alright, let’s go.”

Donna followed his instructions to the letter, staying exactly where he told her and waiting until his word to come out to the car.  They had everything loaded up within minutes and then they were on the road, driving aimlessly until they had a heading.  Donna was remarkably contained, considering that people wanting to get rid of her just seemed to keep popping up.  She stared out the window and hummed to the radio, seemingly soothed by Led Zeppelin III.  It wasn’t in his top ten but it was doing wonders for her so he’d play it all night if he had to.

A loud guitar riff sounded - Sam calling.

“Hey,” he answered, pulling off into a deserted church parking lot.  “Any luck?”

“At finding out who might have shared where she was?  No, that’s going to have to wait until tomorrow,” Sam replied, “Getting Donna’s key?  Yes.  I’m headed there now to get it from the landlord and I can meet you to hand it over.”

“Where?”

Sam read off an address and told him there was Starbucks around the corner where they could meet.  

“If you could manage to sneak her in without the office staff getting a good look that would be my preference,” Sam said bluntly.  “This place has absolutely no ties to her pre-Roman Enterprises life and it’s rented under her middle name.  If someone starts throwing her name and picture around I don’t want to take a chance of anyone recognizing her.”

“Sure.  See you in a few.”

Donna stayed quiet for the trip, yawning every so often or commenting about the traffic or giving directions.  Dean could feel stress radiating off her in waves but there wasn't much he could do about it now.  He could get her home and maybe then she'd start to perk up.  Maybe not tonight, because it was getting late, but maybe in the morning once she had something to take her mind off of it. 

Sam was already waiting when he pulled up in front of the Starbucks, in a wrinkled suit and a pretty dense five o'clock shadow.  Donna had finally passed out so he let her sleep, just pulling up to the curb and keeping her in his line of sight.  

“You look like hell,” Dean commented as he came around the front of the car.  

“Yeah, thanks.  It's been a long night.”

“Everything okay?”

Sam nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head.  “No, actually.”

“What’s wrong?”

“One of our other witnesses was found dead today - the dock supervisor who was with Donna when she found the girls,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.  “He was out in California, shot dead with his daughter in the house.  They're calling it a robbery but there's every indication of him being asleep at the time and nothing was taken from the home.”

Dean’s eyes flitted back to Donna briefly.  “They got him.” 

“Yeah.”  Sam looked at his feet.  “Maybe don't tell Donna.”

“What?”

“She knew him,” he explained, “And she's had a rough time lately.  She's under enough stress as it is.”

“And you think it might scare her out of testifying,” he inferred and Sam’s quick glance away confirmed it.  “Come on, man.  I don't think she's the type to just take off.”

“Everyone has their limits, Dean.  And most people reach theirs a lot sooner than she has.”

He looked back at her and thought of how quickly she rushed to embrace him after only being gone for a few minutes.  She was worried about him just going downstairs. Hearing about a friend’s murder would probably tear her up and that was the last thing she needed right now.  Maybe he didn't agree with Sam’s reasoning, but he would keep it to himself for a while anyway.  Until he felt like she could handle it. 

“Yeah, alright. Got the key?”

Sam handed him an envelope with two keys and some numbers on a post-it note - probably the security code. 

“It's just around the corner,” Sam told him, pointing to the brick building down the street.  “Her unit is 3F.  Just take the elevator up and hang a right.  All of her things are there already but nothing's been unpacked.  Sorry about that.” 

“We'll make it work.  Thanks.”  He looked his brother over again, lips pursing.  “And get some rest, huh?”

Sam scoffed.  “Yeah.  I'll do my best.”  

Dean climbed back in the car and turned the engine over, Baby’s low growl soothing some of his frayed nerves. He made a U-turn and headed for the building Sam had pointed out.  A signed directed him to occupant parking, a large covered garage with two levels and a security code to get inside.  He punched in the number Sam had left for him and circled for a few minutes before sliding easily into the space for 3F.  The Impala looked very much out of place in the sea of hybrids and Vespas that occupied the rest of the lot. 

Donna was still asleep in the passenger seat. Her hair had fallen in her face and she  was slumped against the door, forehead on the window.  He was loathe to wake her up but he had a feeling she wouldn't appreciate spending the night in the car, either.  Now all he had to do was hope she didn’t come up swinging.

“Hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder lightly.  “Donna.  Time to wake up.”

“No.”

Okay, so not swinging at least.  Just not very compliant.

“Yup.  Sorry, time to go.”  

“Are we on a beach?”

“Not unless I’m hallucinating a parking garage.”

She sighed, turning it into a groan.  “Fine.”

“Sorry,” he said, watching her eyes slowly open and focus on him.  “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

She reached down to unbuckle herself and Dean climbed out, popping the trunk to grab their things.  Donna took her backpack and suitcase, loading her arms with the few bags of food they had left since their trip to the store.  She was completely silent as she shuffled away from the car, headed out of the garage and toward the front of the building.  He followed close behind, eyes on their surroundings and brain already cataloging vantage points and blind spots.  There were too many windows for his liking.  There was no way to keep an eye on them all.

Donna stopped at the front door, glaring at the security keypad next to it.  Half of the numbers had been rubbed off and there was some pretty nasty graffiti carved into the top.

“Welcome home?” he said, trying for humor that was lost on her.

“Yeah,” she said, standing aside for Dean to put in the code and then hold the door open for her.  “Home sweet home.” 

  
  



	6. More than a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna strikes out on her own and Sam deals with Dick Roman.

  
  
  


_**Chapter Five : More Than a Feeling** _

  
  
  
  


If she had to pick a word to describe her new apartment, Donna had quite a few options.  Small.  Musty.  Noisy. Possibly-haunted-but-it's-okay-we-just-won't-go-in-that-room.  

It was also pink. 

Very, very pink. 

It was so pink that Donna suspected the last tenant also had a plastic convertible and a DreamHouse.  It was the stuff of all her Pepto-Bismol flavored nightmares and it was all hers.  Suddenly the affordable rent made perfect sense.  

“I swear it didn't look this bad when we came in.  Right?” Donna asked, sitting on top of a box marked “living room”.  Maybe they'd just been tired last night.  Neither of them had even had the energy to dig blankets out of boxes, crashing instead on bare mattresses without pillows. 

“You can paint it, right?” Dean asked with a grimace, reluctantly examining the color in the wash of the early morning sun.  

“For that I need permission from the landlord.  The landlord I’m not supposed to be showing my face to in case he tries to sell me out for beer money.”

“Do you want me to go threaten him?  I'll go threaten him.”  

All it took was a look at his face to know he was serious and she grinned. 

“I admire your chivalry but I'll make it work,” she replied, hopping down from her box.  “I do think I will scrounge up some breakfast for us.  Google tells me there's a donut shop nearby - interested?”

“Sure, let me put some shoes on.”

“No, I got it,” she insisted, grabbing her purse from the couch a few feet away.  “You take a load off.  I promise not to get lost.” 

He gave her a look that very clearly communicated,  _ Not happening. _

“I’m not worried about your complete lack of navigational ability,” he stated bluntly.  “I’m worried about you getting where you’re going.”

“That's an awful lot of backtalk for someone I just offered breakfast to.”

He gave her a droll look and added, “What if someone sees you?”

“They're still looking at the hotel.”

“Maybe.  If we're lucky.”

“Dean…”

“Donna.”

“I'm getting a little cabin feverish, okay?” she admitted, finding a box marked for her bedroom and ripping it open.  A vortex of chaos opened up to her, the most common theme among the detritus being accessories.  She continued without looking at him, knowing the honesty wouldn’t be possible while she was drowning in all that candy apple green.  “And maybe I’m still a little shook up from last night.  I’d kind of like to feel in charge again, even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

He sighed sympathetically.  She had him.  Going in for the kill she added, “This is supposed to be my new normal - I’m getting acclimated and whatnot.  Learning my surroundings.  Besides, it's just a few blocks away.  You could hear me yelling from the street.  Not that there will be any yelling, because I will be fine.” 

“How are you going to avoid getting recognized?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his face.  She dug through the box in front of her found what she was looking for and held it up for him to see.

“I will wear a hat and big glasses, like the world’s most mediocre movie star. I'll pretend to be Dutch, accent and everything.”  She thought for a second.  “For protection I'll adopt an attack pigeon.”  

Dean was fighting a smile, she could see it.  That was basically the same as winning the argument and they both knew it.

She grinned. “I'll walk down the street with a donut in my hand and if someone approaches I'll blast their eyeballs with powdered sugar.” 

That did it.  The grumpy scowl broke and he snorted, already looking annoyed that he lost.

“Fine.  Be careful,” he ordered, hands on his narrow hips.  The gesture pulled his t-shirt a little tighter across the wide expanse of his chest and her eyes may have lost focus for a second.  “Call me if anyone so much as looks at you sideways.”

“I don't have your number.”

He smirked and looked at her knowingly.  “So that's what this fight was about.  You just wanted my digits.” 

She looked back innocently and handed him her phone.  “I have no idea what you're insinuating with that remark but pony up.  I've got pigeons to adopt.” 

“Yeah, alright,” he replied begrudgingly and took her phone.  He tapped the screen a few times and handed it back.  

Voila, the number of Dean Winchester saved under his initials. 

“DW?” she teased. “That sounds like you're in a band.  One with at least three banjos.”  

“Go get food,” he groused.  “I'm going to see what I can do about your TV situation.”

“Don't break anything.”

“Go!”

He waved her off, staring at the wall in front of him like it was a puzzle to be solved.  She took a last look at his consternated expression and locked the door behind her, pulling her baseball cap over her face and sliding her sunglasses up.  She took the stairwell instead of the elevator, purposefully avoiding the security camera she knew was there now that Dean had spent the ride up last night shielding her from it.  Not a soul was in the stairwell, not at just before eight in the morning on a Sunday.  Heck, she didn’t even want to be up this early - it was just hard to stay asleep with the sun shining in your eyes.

Living without curtains was a hardship she hadn’t expected.

She made it out to the street and took in a deep breath of spring air, already feeling a little weight slipping from her shoulders.  It was easy to feel anonymous on the busy sidewalk, just one people out of dozens who were already out and about.  This was one of the things she liked about New York, recently anyway.  When she first showed up it made her sad to realize that she was just another stranger here.  No one to ask if she wasn’t Ken and Joyce’s daughter, or nice old ladies who liked to tell her that they’d known her since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.  Now, though, it suited her just fine.  Now she could mosey her way down the block to get donuts without someone recognizing her.  

The donut shop was small and utilitarian, clearly converted from a tiny convenience store.  Still, they had plenty enough room for the goodies she had her eyes on.  She didn’t know what Dean wanted but guessed he wasn’t picky.  A little old woman with no time for Donna’s indecision took her order, throwing things in a box faster than she could ask for them.  She walked out a few bucks lighter and more than a few calories heavier, balancing her box on her way out.  It almost crashed to the ground when the person who left ahead of her let it slam in her face, knocking her off balance.  

“Whoa!” a male voice exclaimed from behind her and she felt warm hands on her shoulder, steadying her.  

She turned to see dark eyes peering out from darker skin, bright white smile stretching the man’s mouth into a conciliatory smile.

“Sorry,” she said, grimacing.  “I’m about as graceful as a one-legged chicken.”

“Few years short on your ballet lessons?” the man joked.

“More like a few decades,” she answered.  “Thanks.”

“No worries,” he said, holding the door for her.  “Have a nice day.”

“You too!” she called over her shoulder as she walked out.  

There was a skip in her step when she got back to the sidewalk.  This trip had gone just beautifully and she was proud of herself.  She hadn’t had those nasty intrusive thoughts, not even once.  The sun was shining, she had food in her arms, and an outrageously handsome handyman doing his best to hang her television.  A few more mornings like this one might convince her to forget that her old boss put a hit on her. 

Maybe a lot more.  That was a pretty big bummer.

Donna pulled her baseball cap a little lower, pushed her sunglasses a little higher,  and found herself whistling, at first because an old Hank Williams song popped into her head and then because she wanted to seem like she wasn’t paying attention.  There were footsteps behind her, getting closer and trying to be quiet about it.  She sped up and slowed down a few times for comparison, waiting to see if they’d stick with her.  They did.  Pulse kicking it up a notch, she snaked her hand into her pocket and brought out her phone.  Dean’s number was still on the screen and she hovered her finger over the dial icon, not wanting to cause him to worry but also not quite dumb enough to try her luck and hope for the best.

Donna pressed her finger to the icon and let the phone rest on top of her donut box while she moved.  She was only about two blocks from the apartment.  She was calculating her chances to making a run for it when a lot guitar riff sounded behind her.  A very, very familiar ringtone that made her stop short and huff an irritated breath through her nose before turning around to see Dean grinning at her.  

“Was that really necessary?” she cried, putting a hand on her hip in the most genuine display of exasperation she could manage while balancing a bakery box.

The man had the gall to shrug.  “Just testing out your reflexes.”

“My reflexes are fine,” she shot back, “It’s my blood pressure that’s not so great right now.”

“Mine either,” he said as he sauntered up to meet her.  “But don’t worry, the donuts will help.”

“These are mine.  You can go find your own.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“The h-e-double-hockey-sticks I don’t,” she replied, choosing to ignore his snort of amusement as she turned and kept heading toward home.  “You couldn’t let me do this, could you?  Not even after my speech.”

“I got a feeling,” he defended.  “Couldn’t shake it so I followed.”

“What kind of feeling?”

“A suspicious one,” he said, refusing to elaborate or maintain eye contact.  “But, hey.  The good news is that I was wrong and you’ve got better instincts than I do.”  

Why did he look bashful about this?  Unless...

“Were you worried, Dean Winchester?” she asked, voice a little sly.

He shrugged again, this time a little less confidently.  

“Don’t worry,” she told him, sliding him a look from the corner of her eye as they walked.  “I’ll protect you.”

Dean’s head snapped up.  She meant it to be a joke, was hoping to get a chuckle out of him, but instead got an intense stare and an unreadable expression.  It was gone as soon as it came and Donna couldn’t help but wonder if she’d done something wrong.  Then the smile was back and it was like she hadn’t said anything.

“You know though,” he started, tone light, “I don’t see any attack pigeons.”

“Then I’ve trained them well.”

“I guess so,” he smirked as they turned the last corner before home.  “So, before you ask, that hole in the wall was there when we moved in.”

“Dean!”

 

**…**

 

Gordon Walker sat in his car across the street, watching his target and an unknown male cozy up to each other as they walked.  Not a care in the world, even as they pretended to bicker.  This was the easiest job he’d had in awhile.  The target was an easy enough catch - a happy blonde with a cheesy accent and a little extra padding.  Hers was an untrained eye, as evidenced by her willingness to let a stranger get close enough to touch her so long as he was friendly.

The male gave him pause, however.  

His employer was pretty sure the target would be flying solo, with no attachments to hide her.  The tall man hanging so close to her wasn’t supposed to be there.  Yet, there he was - walking on the side closest to the street and blocking Gordon’s view.  A fed?  It was possible.  His posture and situational awareness would suggest some kind of formal training, even if jeans and flannel weren’t exactly in the dress code for feds.  He could be WitSec, unarmed and trying to blend in and avoid scrutiny.  

Still, Gordon had his orders.  Which were to locate, not engage.  At least for now.  The first step had been breaking into her old apartment and placing a tracker that sent coordinates to his phone.  Once her things were moved, all he had to do was turn it on.  The locator app on his phone had taken him right to the door of the building several days ago.  The tracker stayed stable, enough so that he was able to hop a plane to California and be back in time for her to show her face.  It was a happy accident that the target had the same sweet tooth he did and he’d gotten so close without planning to.  So now he sat, waiting for the next set of instructions.  

He watched as the two of them reached the front door, his target typing in the code and the unknown male holding the door open for her as she passed.  Then, just before he went inside, his eyes drifted onto the street and locked on Gordon’s car.  He knew the man couldn’t see him through the glare of the early morning sun on his windshield - hell, he probably couldn’t even tell if someone was in the car - but Gordon had the distinct impression that he was being threatened.  

The fed had to go.  

 

**…**

 

Sam sifted through another set of crime scene photos and felt bile start its steady rise up his throat.  Robert Shaw had been shot through the temple without ever knowing someone was in the room and without ever opening his eyes.  He’d died in his sleep, a small favor that Sam found himself grateful for.  The man’s daughter and grandson were less fortunate - they’d found his body and now had to live with that in their heads for the rest of their lives.  

All because Dick Roman didn’t want to go to jail.

The entitled asshole’s carnage was spreading daily and it was way past getting old.  In a perfect world the damage would stop once he was caught but there was a two-tiered criminal justice system, and Roman occupied the top tier reserved for people who could pay insane amounts of bail without blinking an eye.  Instead he walked free until June, where he could pretty much do whatever he wanted so long as he stayed in the city.  Including, Sam realized with a frown as his door opened without so much as a knock, the federal prosecutor’s office.

Dick sauntered in with his lawyer in tow, the smug prick’s grin firmly in place.  In years of going up against defense attorney Azazel Lehne, including a year as his intern, Sam had never seen it falter.  Not even with guilty verdicts racking up against him and Sam’s conviction rate hitting at a few points above the national average.  His choice of lawyer only made Dick Roman less tolerable than usual, spruced up in a neat navy suit that cost more than Sam’s car and dress shoes shined to perfection. And here he’d thought that his mood couldn’t have gotten any worse.

“Gentlemen,” he sighed, putting the glossy photos in front of him back in their casefile.  “What can I do for you?”

“Well, champ, I’m glad you asked,” Azazel replied, letting a pale blue fold of papers fall to Sam’s desk.  Dick took the chair across from him, settling in like he owned the place.  It made Sam’s skin crawl.  “That’s for you.”

Sam picked it up, letting his eyes drift over the bulk of it and instead seeking out the buzz words.  He processed a few and sighed, running his hands through his hair.  

“Another motion to dismiss?” Sam asked with a distinctly unamused laugh.  “Don’t you know desperation is bad for your complexion?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t say desperate.  Try righteously outraged.”

Sam’s scoffed as his eyes went back to the motion, looking for the reason they’d fabricated this time.  The words  _ failure to produce witnesses for deposition  _ jumped out at him and he felt his blood pressure ratchet up.  

“What witnesses are you needing access to?” Sam replied, doing his best to keep his growing temper in check.  “Because you’ve had your run of our witnesses several times now.”

“I had some additional questions for Mr. Shaw and Ms. Hanscum,” he replied with a cocky smirk.  “But wouldn’t you know it, neither of them were available.  I can only assume they’ve changed their minds about testifying and no longer wish to participate in your frame job.”

Sam knew exactly why those names were popping up all of a sudden - Shaw was dead, it had probably been relayed back to the man who’d hired the killer, and Donna was safely in the wind.  This move would either drag her out of hiding or grant them the dismissal they wanted.

“I take it you’ve heard that Mr. Shaw has passed away,” Sam said evenly, cool civility dripping from every syllable.  “I’m sure you got the notification before the police, though, didn’t you?”

“Careful, counselor.  That sounds oddly like an accusation of witness tampering and I haven’t seen any charges filed.”  That same smug fucking smile.  “Which, of course, means a lack of evidence.”    

“I’ll be sure to let you know when the indictment comes through,” Sam shot back, seething.  “In the meantime, you can take your dismissal to chambers.  I wish you luck, because I’m pretty sure Judge Turner has just about had enough of your grasping at straws.”  

“Oh, we’re not grasping at anything,” he said.  “And speaking of grasping, I’d surely like to get my hands on Ms. Hanscum.  We have some questions for her that weren’t covered in our earlier conversations.”

“What questions?”

“Just the extent to which Ms. Hanscum ran the day to day,” Azazel answered, rocking back on his heels and placing a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  “She sure was quick to have all that paperwork on hand, wasn’t she?  Maybe she’d had this planned for a while.  Or maybe it was all hers and Mr. Roman had never seen any of it in his life.”

Sam scoffed.  “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, it was a good cover, wasn’t it?” he asked, even though Sam knew now when he was being rhetorical and just wanted to hear the sound of his own voice.  “Sweet little office manager, cute as a button and twice as nice.  No one was ever going to pin this on her.  Now, the CEO?  Everyone’s in the mood to demonize the rich and he’s a prime target.”

“You’re full of it, Lehne.”

“Why don’t we let the jury decide?” he asked jovially.  “Unless, of course, Ms. Hanscum is available for some pleasant conversation.”

“If she is, she’ll have to get it elsewhere,” he replied and didn’t so much as dent the man’s armor.  “I’ll see if I can’t set something up.”

“Excellent.  I’ll let you get back to work,” he said, smiling clapping Dick on the back.  “Won’t we, Mr. Roman?”

“Sure thing,” the man answered, standing and straightening his jacket.  “I really hope we can put all of this behind us, Counselor.  I just want to see those poor girls get the justice they deserve.”

“Get out,” Sam snarled and Dick Roman was all too happy to head for the door, neutral expression firmly in place.  It was hard to shake a sociopath.  

“Hey, Sam!” a voice cried from the hallway and then a blonde head appeared, stopped short by the sight of the two men standing in his doorway.  Sam did his best to avoid slamming his head onto his desk in frustration.

“Hello, Donna,” Dick Roman said brightly.  “Just the woman we were looking for.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Hot Blooded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick and Donna and Dean. Oh, and Gordon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for your kudos and comments! It's been a hectic week so I didn't get to reply but thank you. :D
> 
> p.s. - I didn't think of the last chapter as a cliffhanger until you all told me. I mean, I already know what happens. LOL   
>  Whoops!

  
  
  


_**Chapter Six : Hot Blooded** _

  
  
  
  


The profile should have tipped her off, really it should have, but it took Mr. Roman’s voice to get through Donna’s thick skull.  It was familiar and brought competing emotions to the forefront, affection warring with revulsion.  The majority of her memories of the man were very positive but the last few months had dimmed them.  In fact, she hadn't seen him in person since the moment he walked out of the office for date night.  Before she'd realized what kind of person he was, and before her life had imploded. 

“What a lucky coincidence,” the man next to Mr. Roman crowed, straightening his shoulders.  “Ms. Hanscum, it's a delight to see you rushing into this office.  I presume you've come to recant your statement and put this charade to an end.”

She guffawed.  “Yah, I don't think so.” 

Her former boss smiled congenially.  “Now, Donna.  I feel like it’s time we end all this.  Don’t you want to tell the counselor what really happened?”

“I have been,” she replied, straightening up.  “I’ve got plenty more to tell him, too.  Don’t you worry about that.”

His gaze narrowed.

“What have you fabricated now, Ms. Hanscum?” the other man asked, Mr. Roman’s lawyer.  “I’m sure you know that filing a false report is a crime.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” she said, barely sparing him a glance.  

“Donna, this is serious!” Mr. Roman yelled.  “You’ve made some mistakes, but this one takes the cake.”

“What mistake was that?” she asked incredulously.  “Not figuring it out sooner or going to work for you in the first place?  Because where I’m sitting, both of those rank higher than turning you in.”

“Donna!”

She turned her nose up.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have something for Mr. Winchester.  See ya, fellas.”

“You think you can dismiss me?” Mr. Roman seethed, the color in his cheeks staining an angry red. 

“Oh, I dismissed your sorry behind six months ago.  You’re the one who doesn’t have the sense to stay gone - it’s a good thing Sam’s working on that for you.”

Mr. Roman started forward, making her flinch, reaching for her the entire way.  The only thing holding him back from wrapping those hands around her neck was his lawyer.  Maybe she should be smart enough to be afraid, maybe she would be later, but couldn’t call it up just then. It completely baffled her - for the millionth time in the last few months she found herself wondering just who in the heck he really was. 

Dean’s voice snapped her out of the stupor.

“Donna, damn it, I told you to wait for me,” he groused from behind her.  She heard his heavy boots on the dense carpet and the jingle of keys in his hand and then silence.  There was a slight pause between all of them, tense to the point of breaking while Dean realized they weren’t alone and the two men in front of her wondered who he was..  

“Who is this?” Mr. Roman asked her accusingly, as though she really should have put in a request for a new acquaintance.  Him not knowing something was unthinkable.  Granted, she’d never had much of a life outside of work.

“A friend,” she answered as she felt Dean move closer.  Even without turning her head she could sense the menace flowing off of him - even Mr. Roman’s lawyer seemed to take a step back.  

“Howdy fellas,” he said, voice low enough to be considered a growl.  “Just leaving?”

“Yes they were,” Sam called from behind them.  “Weren’t you, Counselor?”

“Yes, yes, places to be,” the man said, attempting to direct his client to the door.  Mr. Roman took his eyes off Dean and met hers, boring into them as though he could force her to disintegrate with the power of his mind.  

“You’ll tell the truth or it’ll just come out in court.  You have my word on that,” he said, crowding her until they shared the same air.  Dean didn’t like that, apparently.  He reached forward and grabbed her hand, pulling her back into him and around his side so that he stood between her and her former employer.

“That’s enough of that,” he said, going toe to toe with Mr. Roman and coming out taller and scarier. “Donna, are you done talking to this piece of shit?”

“Oh, yah,” she scoffed, nodding.  “Way done.”

“You heard the lady,” Dean warned.  “Get lost.”

His attorney stepped forward again and this time got Mr. Roman to move.  It only ruffled his feathers further, compelling him to shout, “I’ve been willing to protect you but this has gone far enough!  I won’t go to jail for you!”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, eyes flitting to Sam.  He was sitting behind his desk, looking pained and apologetic.  

“You’ll find out,” Mr. Roman assured her with a predatory smile that shook her down to her bones.  The man she knew would never have been capable of looking so… rabid.  “Let’s go, Lehne.  I have plans.”

“Right behind you, Mr. Roman.”

Donna watched them head for the door and called out, “Oh, Dick!  Remember this?”

Mr. Roman turned, seeing the worn iPad waving in her hand.  “No.”

“You should,” she said.  “You gave it to me for my birthday last year, said you’d upgraded and all I had to do to use it was erase your settings.”

His lips pursed and he went still.

“Guess I never got around to it.”  She grinned.  “But no time like the present, right?  Sam’s got all sorts of people to help me figure this thing out.”

“I gave you a chance,” he said, voice harsh with rage.  “You won’t get another.”

He fumbled for something in his pocket and Dean tensed, moving to stand in front of her before realizing that he was digging for his phone.  He mashed at the screen a couple of times and put the phone to his ear, snarling at her.  Then they marched off, disappearing down the hallway where she’d come up a few minutes ago.  There was a few seconds where she expected a ninja assassin to come crashing through the ceiling after her but nothing happened and it looked like she lived to fight another day.  Donna let her breath go in a massive rush and she tilted her head forward to rest in the space between Dean’s shoulder blades.

“You okay?” he asked and the low rumble of his voice vibrated over her skin.  She melted into him until it no longer felt like her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.  

“Super duper,” she said.  

“Was taunting him with that thing really in your best interest?”

“Probably not but I was feeling feisty,” she answered with a sigh.  “I’m sorry.”

“Bothered him more than it bothered me,” Dean said, turning around to face her.  “Which is why you did it, I’m guessing.”

“Yup.”

Donna looked up, expecting to see judgment or anger.  Granted, that last bit of taunting was totally unnecessary but he spooked her and she lashed out. Weirdly, Dean didn’t seem to mind.  Instead she found him calmly accepting of her nonsense, not even a hint of annoyance with her boneheaded self.  He was close enough for her to feel his heat, to smell the hints of leather and clean cotton that seemed to follow him around.  Not a care in the world that her mouth had run off with her and written a check her nerve couldn't cash.  

Her heart clenched painfully in her chest.  

Dean stepped in front of her without a second thought and wasn't even mad about it, not knowing what Dick had planned.  He hung up her TV and made her coffee.  He stuck around with the threat of violence hanging over her and still went out of his way to make her feel better.  Warmth bloomed in her bloodstream and spread, firing her up even as her mind backpedaled.  In typical Donna fashion, she hadn't seen the danger in his green eyes and bowlegged walk until it was too late. 

_ Ah, cripes. _

“What?” he asked, misinterpreting her moment of realization for emotional distress.  “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answered quickly.  “Not a thing.” 

He quirked a brow in confusion but let her answer stand. 

“Is that thing why you’re here?” Sam asked on a long exhale, coming to stand in the doorway with an exasperated expression stretched taut across his handsome face.  “Because I distinctly remember telling you to lay low.”

“Yah, sorry,” Donna said and held the tablet out to him.  “I was unpacking and found this.  He gave it to me a long time ago and I just put it away and forgot all about it.  Lord knows what’s on it but I bet Charlie could sink her teeth in anyway.”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam replied accepting it with a frown.  “You’re giving me gray hair, you know that right?”

“Sorry,” she said with a grimace.  “But I think you’re doing a terrific job, just in case that helps.”

“What was that crap Roman was talking about?” Dean asked, still positioning himself between her and the door.  “That crap about not going to jail for her.”  

Sam winced.  “Come in.  We’ll talk in here.”

Well, that was a good sign.

Dean closed the door behind him, pausing a second before sliding the deadbolt in.  He didn’t trust Mr. Roman much, apparently.  She couldn’t bring herself to blame him.  The look that man gave her on his way out was going to stay with her for a long time - probably especially at night, when she was trying to shut everything else out and sleep.  

“Well?” Dean asked, staying behind them to lean up against the door.  

“Dick Roman and his counsel are filing another motion for dismissal,” Sam answered, falling back in his chair.  “And if that doesn’t work, which it won’t after knowing Judge Turner as long I have, it sounds like they’re planning on turning Donna into their reasonable doubt.”

“Oh, no,” she whispered, realization blossoming like a field of daisies in spring.  

“Her?” Dean asked, still unsure.   “Reasonable doubt for what?”

“That I could be the one responsible for stealing and selling those girls,” she filled in and Sam looked away like he was embarrassed.  She was right on the money.  “Well, I hadn’t thought of that yet so good for him.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Can they do that?” Dean asked angrily.  

“As a defense?  Sure,” Sam sighed.  “Will it work?  Very, very doubtful.  Donna was cleared from involvement months ago, almost immediately.  And beyond that she’s more likable than Roman will be on the stand.”

“So they’re just doing it to be dicks?”

“Pretty much.  Or as another layer of intimidation, because they’d like her to believe that if she chooses to testify they might make sure she gets arrested.”

“Well, fat chance,” she said, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest.  “They can try but I’m not going anywhere.”

Sam grinned.  “Yeah, I had a feeling you'd say that.  Don't worry too much.  None of the detectives on your case thought for a minute that you were in on it and I really doubt he'll change any of their minds.” 

“That's something, I guess.” 

“Also, if it makes you feel any better,” Sam continued, “I found the staff member who ratted you out.”

Dean squared his shoulders.  “Who?”

“An intern who was under the impression that Donna’s security detail was trying to find her for their shift,” he told them.  “Had no idea they weren't cops so he went looking around my desk until he found an address.  Said they both had accents but couldn't say where they were from.”  

“I have a feeling I already know,” Dean interjected.  

“What happened to the intern?” Donna asked.  “Please don’t fire him.  It wasn’t his fault someone came in and fed him a phony story.”

“He’s not fired.  He’ll just be converting paper casefiles to digital for the foreseeable future.”  Sam cleared his throat.  “He may have also gotten a pretty decent dressing down from Detective Trenton.  I don’t think he’s going to stick his head out of the file room for a while.”

“Hey, Sam, can I have a minute with Donna?”

Dean's voice surprised them both. Her stomach swooped low and even Sam looked taken aback before recovering.  

“Yeah, sure,” he answered slowly, standing.  “No problem.  I’ve got to get this tablet to Charlie.  She’s going to throw a fit that it’s not in an evidence bag already.”

Sam looked at her sympathetically and headed for the door, waiting patiently while Dean unlocked it and stood aside for him to pass before moving the deadbolt right back into place once the door was closed again.  Donna swallowed hard.  He leveled a direct stare at her and she felt color rise up in her cheeks.  Maybe Dean had been angrier than she realized - she kind of felt like she was going to be the next one to get a dressing down in this office.

“Can we be really honest with each other for a second?” he asked mildly. 

“Why?” she asked, “You been fibbing?” 

“Me?  Wouldn't dream of it.  I just want you to be upfront with me once I start asking questions.”

“Sure,” she said.  “Shoot.” 

Her nerves came up, unbidden.  If he asked her about her being in cahoots with Mr. Roman all this time she might cry.  

“What do you think is on that tablet you just gave Sam?” he asked.

“Not a clue,” she said.  “It might be nothing but his emails but I didn’t want to assume and miss something important.”

“I think it’s important.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he was furious,” Dean observed, mouth set in a hard line.  “Whatever is on that is something he really doesn’t want found.  He probably never thought twice about it before because you were going to clear it and fill it with your own stuff.”

“I bet he wasn’t planning on getting caught, either,” she added.  “He would have no reason to believe it would ever get searched to begin with.”

“Exactly.”

“You don’t seem happy about more evidence,” she said, tilting her head as though it would give her some magical window into what he was thinking.

“Did you see what Dick was doing when he left?” 

Donna nodded.  “Trying to explode my brain with the power of his mind.”

“Other than that.” 

“He was messing with his phone.”

“Not just messing -  _ calling _ .  Who do you think he was calling?” Dean asked pointedly and she knew he was right.  A cold shiver worked its way under her skin and didn’t work its way out again. 

“His wife?”

He scowled.  “I really doubt that.”

“Yah,” she sighed, “Me too.” 

“I guarantee you this stuff is about to ramp up.  People aren’t going to stop looking for you,” he warned her, still making an effort to be gentle by leaving out what they wanted to do to her after they found her.  “Are you ready for that?”

She nodded.  “Yah.  I'm good.”

Dean left the door and came to stand in front of her.  Her eyes traveled up the long line of his legs before her view was interrupted, Dean kneeling at her feet with a grim expression and concern weighing heavy on his shoulders.  He was close enough that they were almost face to face and she was having a hard time not leaning the rest of the way into him.  He shouldn't have let her hug him the first time - now she craved his nearness like she had a right to it. 

“My brother has a job to do and I respect that,” he told her seriously.  “He has a conviction to worry about.  I don't.”

“So…”   

“So say the word, Donna, and I'll help you run.”  

“What?” she breathed, bracing herself against the desire to fall into him.  

“I'll get you out of the city, out of the state,” he continued.  “Far enough away that you'll never have to hear Dick Roman’s name ever again.”

“Dean…”

“Donna.”

“I can't just take off,” she insisted even as the offer rang, tempting, in her ear.  “I have a responsibility to those girls to make sure he spends his life in prison.  I can't run away from that.” 

_ Even if she was terrified.  _

“Sam has a case outside of you, too,” he argued back, brows drawn in annoyance, “And the physical evidence doesn't need to worry about being murdered.”

“Neither do I,” she said sweetly and for some reason it hurt.  “I've got you, remember?” 

He hung his head.  

Maybe he didn't want the reminder. 

“Okay,” he finally sighed, “But keep thinking about it.  Tell me if you change your mind.”

“Promise,” she said, even if she knew she wouldn't.  She’d rather go it alone that admit to her weakness in front of him.

Dean lifted his head and studied her, seemingly trying to make her spill whatever secrets she was hiding from him.  It was too bad she didn't have any - she would have given them all up in a heartbeat, pinned in place by that warm green stare and slight frown.  She could have sworn he was leaning into her, moving into her space by mere centimeters but it was enough for her to notice and silently hope for more.   This was supposed to be an interrogation, she realized.  And here she was turning it into foreplay.  Maybe she was letting this sweet spot she had for him go a little far.  At this rate she was bound to get her heart broken, because she had a feeling no one walked away from Dean Winchester in one piece. 

“Don't shut me out, okay?” he asked and she couldn't help but nod, hoping to high heaven that he couldn’t read her mind.  “Keep talking to me.”

She gave him a jaunty salute.  “Yes, sir.”

There was that look again, like maybe she said the wrong thing.  She couldn't tell if he was in pain or just deep in thought but she knew that she was to blame and that made her stomach feel funny.  Then Sam was knocking on the door and the moment evaporated.  He blinked those thoughts away, seeming surprised to find himself there.  Dean left his spot at her feet and went to let his brother in.  

Why couldn't she start breathing again? 

 

**…**

 

Across town, Gordon Walker was sitting in his car and trying not to get frustrated.  It had been a long day of sitting and doing nothing, and nothing was not his specialty.  He was considering calling it a day as the late afternoon sun started to set but a buzzing sound next to him stopped that thought in its tracks.  He looked at the screen smiling, delighted already with the one-word message.

_ Proceed. _

Gordon got out of the car.  

 


	8. Laugh, I Nearly Died

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon proceeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the greater delay for this chapter... I decided to throw my back out this week and spent about five days in bed, unable to do anything but take pain killers and whine. Thanks for all your comments. :)

  
  
  


_**Chapter Seven : Laugh, I Nearly Died** _

  
  
  
  


The rage took a few minutes to fade.  

Dean watched Dick Roman leave the room and had to force himself not to follow and put the fear of God into him.  The fact that he hadn't done that kind of thing in years didn't seem to matter in those long minutes.  The way he looked at Donna spoke volumes about the kind of man he was and Dean didn't have a single doubt that he was guilty of every charge leveled against him - plus a few more that they hadn't found evidence for yet.  Shoving her behind him had felt like the most natural thing in the world because there was no way in hell he was letting that guy get anywhere near her.  

After the confrontation was over and Dick was gone Dean waited to hear her yelling at him for manhandling her.  He wouldn't blame her, even though he'd never admit to regretting it. Instead he felt her press herself into him, her breath just barely drifting down his spine.  He could already feel her wrapping her arms around his waist and was surprised at how sharp the disappointment was when she didn't.  Then the red in his vision cleared.  It filtered out slowly until he just felt like himself again, if a little amped up.  His breathing settled and when he spoke it was calm and clear, like he was fine.

Like he wasn’t fighting against pulling her against his chest, just so he could feel her lungs filling up and her heart thumping steadily.  

He was in such deep shit.

“You about ready to go home?” he asked a few hours later, after Sam had managed to convince her that the lab wouldn’t be able to get anything for a while.  Donna believed the hype of the primetime cop procedurals that he so loathed - lab results in an hour, bad guy in jail by the end of the night.

“Yah, I guess so,” she sighed, standing.  “You too, Sam?  You look bushed.”

“Thanks for that,” Sam replied with a sarcastic laugh and checked his watch.  “Wow.  I’m even getting out before six.  Eileen might not even be home yet.”

“Pick up dinner,” Donna suggested in a stage whisper that made Dean fight a smile.  “Brownie points for days, bud.  Take it from me.”

Sam grinned.  “I think I will.  What are you two going to do?”

“I guess keep unpacking,” Donna replied as they walked out of the office.  “I do think I saw a box marked ‘beds’ this afternoon so we’ll at least have some blankets to sleep on tonight.”

“And here I thought you liked roughing it,” Dean accused gently as Sam locked his door behind them.

“A girl can only take so much, and no curtains was pushing it.”

He chuckled as they headed for the stairs back down to the street.  Sam waved them off, heading to his goofy electric car with a roll of his eyes.  It may have been because Dean had called his car goofy and electric out loud.  The two of them saw him off before Dean took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his mouth while he turned to see her leaning on a lamppost.   

“Well then?” he asked.  “You done stirring up stuff for the day?”

“Me?!”

“Yeah, you,” he replied, smirking at her indignant scowl.  “Come on.  Let’s find our own dinner.”

“Oh, yah?  You looking for brownie points?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest while he walked slowly back to her.  “What did you do?”

“Nothing.  I need to have some in the bank, just in case,” he answered, doing his best to keep his eyes on hers rather than drifting lower.  It was harder than it should have been, considering he was a few short years away from forty.  “What do you say?  I was thinking Chinese.”

“Keep talking like that and you’ll earn double brownie points,” she marveled, wide smile back in place.  He was happy to see that she’d shaken off the encounter with Roman earlier.

“Does that just mean extra chocolate?” he asked seriously.

“If you get enough of them you can convert them to cheesecake,” she answered just as seriously, taking off in the direction of the parking lot and leaving him to follow.  “Cheesecake points will get you out of a  _ ton _ .  Maybe not murder but certainly arson.”  

“Good to know.”

 

**…**

 

“You know,” Donna said, doing her best to juggle the fortune cookies leftover from dinner and comically failing, “We’re supposed to eat these at the restaurant.  I don’t know if our fortunes will come true if we eat them later.”

“We did eat them at the restaurant,” Dean told her as they walked toward her building.  “They just gave us extra.”

“They were judging you for your two extra helpings of sweet and sour chicken,” she joked and he scoffed indignantly.  

“What, like that tiny box is a whole meal?  Give me a break,” he said.  “I've been following you around all day.  I need fuel.” 

“Are you calling me difficult?”

“That's a nice way of sugarcoating it.”

“I'll be sure to sugarcoat the couch for ya while I'm at it.”

“Harsh.”

Dean stood aside while Donna typed in the security code, unconsciously taking her right side so that the office didn’t get a good look at her as they walked in the door.  Not that anyone seemed to be paying attention - the woman in the office was reading a paperback with a naked dude on it, so he was pretty sure she was occupied.  They probably could have walked in with sombreros and shotguns and she wouldn’t have even looked up.  It didn’t make him feel very good about the overall security of the place but it suited him fine for now.

“Well, shoot.”  

Donna’s voice pulled him out of his musing and he looked up to find a sign on the elevator doors, written in heavy black permanent marker.

 

**_OUT OF ORDER - SORRY_ **

 

“One less camera we have to dodge, I guess,” he commented with a sigh and then groaned in realization.  “Oh, God.  I ate way too much to take the stairs.”

“Buck up, buttercup,” Donna teased lightly from the corner of her mouth as she turned away, “I believe in you.” 

He scowled.  “You’re just saying that so I’ll take the stairs.”

“And?”

Dean followed her away from the elevator and toward the stairwell, its heavy metal door lovingly adorned with FUCK YOU gouged into the industrial paint in wide blocked letters.  Couldn’t Sam or that other cop have found her a better building than this?  Or at least gotten the state to chip in on something in a better neighborhood?  Surely there was an apartment somewhere in New York that didn’t look like a TV crime scene waiting to happen.  

Donna led him up the first flight of stairs, humming happily without a care in the world.  The melody was vaguely familiar but he couldn’t place it.  Something like pop but not current.  The eighties, maybe?  His mind kept trying to fill in synthesizers and a distorted guitar lick.  It was going to drive him crazy but he didn’t want to ask because then she’d get embarrassed and stop.  She was too hard on herself when she joked about skipping Broadway - her voice was nice.  In key and earnest, echoing in the stairwell as they landed on the second floor.  God, it was going to drive him up the wall.  

_ Baby, you’re much too fast… _

That was it.  

_ It was Saturday night, I guess that makes it alright… _

Prince!

He narrowly avoided shouting “Little Red Corvette” at the top of his lungs but did look up at the sound of footsteps coming down to meet them.  Donna was in front of him, clutching those fortune cookies and still singing under her breath.  She looked up just as another tenant rounded the corner of the landing ahead of them.  There was no reason he should have noticed the man at all, except… except for Donna.  Rather than offering a happy smile or greeting she cocked her head to the side.  Just a hair, just enough for him to realize that she recognized him and wondered what he was doing there.

The thought landed and adrenaline flowed but Donna didn’t so much as slow her stride, coming even with the guy just in time for the soft  _ snick  _ of a knife being opened to hit his ears.  Dean opened his mouth to warn her but she was already two steps ahead of him.  Bringing her right arm back like she was a world class softball player, those leftover fortune cookies launched at the guy’s face before he even realized he’d been made.  They bounced off harmlessly but it was enough for her to get the upper hand, shoving him with both hands on his chest to send him into the hard cinderblock wall on his other side.  

Dean heard the air leave his lungs in a rush but he recovered quickly, lashing out blade-first so that its flat silver edge flashed in the fluorescent lighting.  Pushing Donna forward so that she had to catch herself on the steps to keep from falling, Dean shoved himself between them and felt the blade catch the thick flannel of his overshirt and get tangled.  He took the opportunity to twist away so that the knife pulled from its owner’s hand and clattered down the stairwell behind him.  

“Donna, go,” he ordered in a gruff voice without even looking at her.  He trusted that she would get herself to safety and that trust wasn’t misplaced - he heard her climbing up the steps, saw her moving in his periphery.  

In the meantime, there was this asshole.

Dean’s eyes were on the man in front of him.  Not a shred of doubt or fear to be found in his impossibly dark eyes - if anything he seemed to like Dean’s presence there, making his job harder than it had to be.  The guy was aiming for an easy faked mugging and instead found a protection detail.  Donna wasn’t his first rodeo - he was probably a pro.  One who enjoyed what he did, which made him infinitely more dangerous.  A contract killer was one thing.  A contract killer who liked killing was another matter entirely.  

He lashed out first, an uppercut into Dean’s stomach that threatened to make him sick.  Instead it left his side unprotected and Dean sent his clenched fist into the man’s ribs, doubling him over so that his face collided with the hard bone of Dean’s kneecap.  The crunch of cartilage didn’t slow his opponent for even a second.  A breath later and he was pounding his fist into Dean’s jaw, spinning him around to lean against the hard metal railing behind him.  He grasped the railing just in time to feel a hard forearm close around his neck and pull tight, obstructing his airway.  Dean’s hands came up to grip the arm around his throat and pulled it down and away, sneaking his leg behind the other man’s and using it to tilt him backwards.  It threw him off balance and sent him flailing, only narrowly avoiding falling down the steps as he caught himself on the wall.  

They stared each other down again, both their lungs starting to heave.

“Fed?” the guy asked him, bloody mouth tilting up at the corner in amusement.

“Nope,” Dean answered and leaned back on the railing, bending himself backward so that when he swung his fist around it connected with the man’s jaw with an ugly crack that echoed in the small space and sent him sprawling to the landing below them.  Dean followed, bringing his foot up to stomp it into his opponent’s sternum before he had the chance to get up.  The resulting damage would at least give them enough time to get out of the confined space and closer to safety.

It didn’t work out that way.

The contract killer rolled out of the way and caught Dean’s leg in mid-air, twisting it at the knee so that he felt something pull way too far and he crashed to his side.  His hands reached out to fist in the man’s shirt and Dean rolled, taking him along for the ride until Dean landed on top and sucker punched him.  It stunned him and gave Dean the opportunity to slam his head down on his opponent’s nose.  Blood sprayed, staining his gray shirt with fine flecks of crimson.  The sight should have bothered him but instead felt oddly familiar.  His victim swore, tried to buck him off and failing.  He finally wiggled enough to free an arm, countering with an ugly right hook to Dean’s cheek that made him see stars and fall sideways.  His ears rang and his vision swam - he could almost feel his brain swaying back and forth in his skull.

In a second there was a shadow stepping over over him and the sound of footsteps made their way through his muffled ears.  

“Donna!” he had the presence of mind to groan.  

He didn’t hear a reply - maybe she got away.  

Then a sniffle.  The tiniest intake of breath that practically screamed her fear to the rooftops.

He needed to get up.  

“Donna, run!” he yelled again as the footsteps got farther away.  

He could hear her banging on the door now, pushing on the metal bar that was supposed to let them onto her floor but Dean had a feeling that it had been locked from the other side.  As the dizziness started to subside he pulled himself to his feet and reached for the railing to keep him upright.  Blinking away the double vision, Dean looked up to see the contractor closing in on his target.  Donna had put her back to the locked door and was staring the man down, jaw clenched tight and tears running freely.  Her eyes darted to Dean every so often and darted away again, trying not to draw attention to the fact that he was only a few feet away now.  She slowly sank to the floor, pulling the man’s attention with her.

“I appreciate the workout,” the contractor told her with a laugh in his voice.  “Here I thought this was going to be easy.”

“Yah, well,” she huffed, “You’ve still gotta get through me, doncha?”

He scoffed.  “I’m not worried.”

“No?”

“Your guy may have disarmed me but choking the life out of someone is a lot easier when they’re already scared,” he told her matter-of-factly.  “Racing heart, shallow breathing, expending more energy with all that adrenaline flowing.  You know how it goes.”

“Sure do,” she answered and watched as Dean’s arm closed around the man’s neck and pulled tight.  

Dean wrenched him backwards, bringing him down and twisting in his descent until the man was on his stomach and his windpipe was pressed against the cold metal railing.  It was the only thing that kept them from tumbling down three floors onto hard concrete.  Dean held fast as he flailed and attempted to pull air into lungs that probably felt like they were on fire now.  It took several long minutes for the man to go still, eyes closing and jaw going slack.  Dean held on a few seconds extra, just to be sure, before he let him go and stood up.  His knee smarted and his head still felt fuzzy but he was in one piece.  

Both of them were.

“You’re not a mechanic, are you?” Donna breathed, drawing his attention outward again.  He kept his eye on the man at his feet - he should be unconscious for several minutes but didn’t want to take any chances.

“Sure I am,” he replied, offering a hand and pulling her to her feet.  “Come on.  We need to go.”

“You okay?” she asked as they started back down the steps.  Only a few minutes had passed from the time they first stepped into the stairwell but they were leaving under vastly different circumstances.  

“I’ll live,” he answered brusquely as they descended.  The quick movements were making him nauseous.  “I may need you to drive.”

“Yah, sure,” she said, looking over at him and stopping short.  “Dean, you’re bleeding.”

“No kidding.  Can we keep moving?”

She didn’t answer, instead stepping close and looking at his side.  Pulling the plaid shirt to the side, she revealed the t-shirt beneath it and then Dean noticed the blood blossoming across his ribs.  He frowned, confused, until he thought of the knife he’d wrenched away a few minutes before.  It must have made contact after all.

“Noted,” he said, swallowing hard.  

He was really starting to feel like he might be sick.  It wasn’t improved by Donna pulling at his sleeves, yanking them down his arms until the overshirt was balled up in her hands.

“Undressing me in public?” he asked.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture but I feel like we’ve got bigger fish to fry at the moment.”

“Hush,” she ordered him, shoving the garment to his side and pulling his arm back down to hold it in place.  “Try to keep pressure on that.  If we’re lucky it’ll slow it down until we get to the hospital.”

“We’re not going to the hospital,” he said as they started moving again.  

“What?!”

“That guy’s going to wake up any minute and he’s going to clear out of here well before any cops arrive,” he told her.  “Now he’s going to be pissed and he knows that he did some damage.  If we go to a hospital and he tracks us down we’ll get separated and there won’t be anyone there to protect you.”

“But you-”

“I’ll be fine,” he said as she pushed the door open to reveal the ground level, stupid sign still on the elevator.  In fact…

He made a detour, veering left and approaching the sliding metal doors.  Donna followed quickly behind him as he ripped the sign off the elevator doors and marched into the main office.  The woman with the book looked up, surprised and then scared as she took him.  He’d just been in one hell of a fight and probably looked like it.  

Dean slammed the sign down on the desk.

“Why is the elevator out of order?”

She looked at him and the sign, confused.  “The elevator isn’t out of order.”

“That’s what I thought,” he replied and marched back out again.  

The contractor had set up a trap and they’d walked right into it.  

“Wait, did he…?”

“Yup.”

They left the lobby at a light jog, heading for the parking garage next to the building.  Baby was right where he’d left her, her deep black paint gleaming like starlight in the flickering lights of the garage.  Dean did a quick once-over on himself and pulled his keys out, offering them to Donna.  

“You’re driving?”

She nodded, opening his door for him and then standing close in case she needed to close it for him again.  He waved her off but she was shaken up and wasn’t listening at the moment.  Maybe hovering made her feel better.  When she was sure he was in she went around to the driver’s side and climbed in, situating the seat so she could reach the pedals.

“Don’t hurt my car,” he said as he leaned back on the headrest.

“I know how to drive.”

“Call Sammy,” he said, letting his eyes slip closed.  “Tell him where we’re going, tell him to send someone to try and get DNA from the floor or something.”

“Where are we going?” she asked as she put the key in the ignition.  Baby roared to life, her heavy grumble settling into his bones until calm started to creep in at the edges.  

“Away,” he answered simply.  “Just drive.”

Donna nodded.  “Can do.”

 


	9. That's the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're spoiling me with all these kudos and comments! I can't stop writing. Literally unable to stop.

 

 

 

_**Chapter Eight : That’s the Way** _

 

 

 

 

Dean woke up in the middle of New Jersey, about ten minutes after Donna had pulled into a cheap motel parking lot and gotten a room for the few hours left of the night.  

Which did not get her a discounted rate, as it turned out.

She tried for a long time to keep him awake but he swore he didn’t have a concussion, and if he did it was nothing.  He told her the nausea had faded and his vision was normal again.  Without the option of the hospital, and knowing that they desperately needed to get out of the city, she didn’t have a lot of room to bargain with him.  He’d stayed out while she stopped at her bank and withdrew every cent the ATM would allow, stuffing it into her wallet and hurrying back to the car before someone picked her out as an easy target.  

Her next stop was an all-night pharmacy to get provisions.  She got some food and water, some toiletries because she didn’t know if she’d need them.  Ice packs, bandages, and something to clean the wound on Dean’s side.  She’d tried to get another look at it while he was sleeping but he was protecting it, keeping his arm tight against his ribs.  Couldn’t say she blamed him.  But at least she didn’t see any fresh bleeding and what was there had dried into dark brown flecks.  Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked originally.

That was an hour ago, and the first time his eyes blinked open in the dark parking lot she could have cried with relief.  She was about five minutes from putting a mirror under his nose.

“Where are we?” he asked, voice rough with sleep.

“A suburb of Trenton, thereabouts,” she answered.  “I took a scenic route, zigging and zagging in case we were being followed.”

“Good.  Did you call Sam?”

She nodded.  “The detective is on his way to the building but Sam didn’t seem too convinced they’d find anything.  Told me to keep him updated.”  She cleared her throat.  “He also told me to drag you to a hospital if I felt like you needed it.”

A low sound rumbled from the center of his chest - did he just growl at her?

“I don’t need a hospital,” he said for the dozenth time that night and straightened up in the seat, obviously trying to hide his discomfort by biting the inside of his cheek as he moved.  “This is us for the night?”

“Yah,” she answered softly.

“Super.  Let’s go.”

Donna got out of the car and watched helplessly as Dean dragged himself out the other side, teeth clenched tight and a low groan working its way out of his chest.  She had a feeling that if she offered to help he might bite her.  Instead she stood calmly to the side, leading him to their door and then unlocking it so he could limp inside.  

The room was bare bones but it would suit them for the few short hours they had left before checkout.  Two twin beds, a breakfast table with two rickety chairs.  A mini-fridge that looked like its door was hanging crooked and a microwave with faded buttons.  Dean collapsed into the first chair available and put his head down, taking in a deep drink of air that sounded like it might have hurt a little.  

“Here, let me see,” she said, dumping her bags of medical supplies onto the table in front of him.  Dean grunted assent but didn’t move.  “Hey.  You with me?”

“Yeah,” he answered, leaning back again.  

“Sure I can’t talk you into a doctor?”

“No doctor.  Stop asking.”

“Alright, alright.  Don't get snippy with me.” 

He looked contrite and held his arm up of his own free will, letting his makeshift compress fall away and exposing the dried blood that had crusted on his thin cotton t-shirt.  Donna grimaced and grabbed his flannel off the floor, heading for the sink.  She rinsed off what old blood she noticed hidden in the dark green fabric and soaked it full of clean water.  She didn’t have much in the way of rags to wash the wound but this would have to do the trick.  It hadn’t yet sunk in that she had no idea what she was doing.

Donna made her way back to him and set the damp shirt aside, digging an instant cold pack from the plastic bag.  She squeezed the life out of it until she felt the bag inside break, cooling the squishy square within seconds.  

“For your face,” she said by way of explanation, handing it over.

“This is going to last for ten minutes, tops.”

“So use it for ten minutes.  I have about twenty more in the bag.”

Dean nodded and did what he was told, resting it on his abused cheek.

With that taken care of she sunk to her knees at his side so that the wound was right in her line of sight.  She couldn’t make out much about it other than the fact that the shirt had dried to his skin, obscuring what she really needed to see.  

“Shirt, please.”

“What?” Dean asked, unable to hear her nervous mumbling.

“Your shirt,” she clarified, clearing her throat and doing her best to be louder.  “It’s, um.  It’s in the way.”

He didn’t tease her, thank heaven.  His mouth stayed blissfully shut as he put the ice pack down and reached for his hem, pulling it up and over his head in a jerky motion that suggested it hurt more than he was letting on.  She tried not to stare - really she did - but there were acres of bronzed skin and lean muscles to be admired and she was only human.  A tattoo marked the skin just under his left collarbone but she couldn’t quite make it out from this angle, even if she really did give it the old college try.  Luckily her patient didn’t notice her ogling.  Dean was too busy putting the ice pack to his face again and grumbling about the air conditioner being too high.  

Even caked in blood he was gorgeous.

_ What a horrendous thought _ , Donna mused distastefully as she did her best to figure out what she was working with.   _ You should be ashamed of yourself. _

The skin was open but not too deep as far as she could tell.  It bled pretty good but didn’t look like it had exposed muscle.  A flesh wound.  She was right in the car earlier when she supposed it had stopped bleeding, which was good news for her.  She didn’t have to worry about him bleeding out in his sleep.  It had mostly scabbed over already but the edges were already an angry red that needed attention before the whole thing got infected.  

“Cold,” she warned before pressing his shirt to the wound.  He hissed in response but did his best to stay still as she slowly soaked away the blood dried to his skin.  She looked up and added, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, even as the muscles of his abdomen bunched in response to the cold, wet attack on his ribs.  

Donna worked quickly and silently, clearing her way until his skin was free of scabs and the wound itself was unobstructed.  It was about four and a half inches, the skin parted neatly.  The skinny strip bandages she’d gotten would hold it together so long as he didn’t go around sparring with anyone else for a few days.  

“Can you hand me that alcohol solution and the gauze?” she asked, setting his shirt to the side.  She’d have to wash it in the sink later so he would have something to wear tomorrow - they left all their things in her apartment.

“This is going to suck,” he said as he passed her the materials she asked for.  

“Yah, probably,” she replied.  

Donna held a square of gauze to the top of the bottle and tipped it over a few times, just enough to saturate it.  

“So, I feel like I should rephrase my question from earlier,” she said casually as she pressed the gauze to his side.

“Ah!” he cried, sucking air through his teeth.  “Jesus Christ!  What question?”

“I asked if you were a mechanic.”

“I am a mechanic,” he responded, doing his best to keep from writhing away from the burn she was inflicting.

“Yes.  But you’re not  _ just  _ a mechanic, are you?” she questioned and felt Dean still, even as she kept cleaning him up.  In his current state she wasn’t sure if she should be getting him worked up again but she had to know.  Dean wasn’t a barroom brawler any more than she was a grand ballerina - he had training.  Real training, meant to do damage.  Watching him fight the man from the donut shop made her realize that he could have killed him, had he gotten the mind to.  

Dean sighed.  “Sam didn’t tell you?”

Bingo.

“Not a thing other than your current occupation and the fact that you were a bit of a sourpuss,” she said gently.  

“He would say that,” he commented bitterly but she had a feeling he didn’t really mean it.  “I, uh.  I spent some time in the Marine Corps.”

Donna nodded - his tattoo.  The Eagle, Globe, and Anchor were clear now that she knew what she was looking at.  It also explained why he was fine sleeping on bare mattresses and hard couch cushions.  He’d probably dealt with much worse.  The thought made her stomach feel funny.  

“How long?” she asked, pushing those thoughts to the side.

“Eight years, three tours overseas.”

“And after that?” she asked mildly, not expecting much of an answer.  She just liked him talking to her - there was a small chance it would take his mind off the fact that she was trying to sear any infection out of an open wound on an already sensitive part of his body.  

“Nine years on SWAT.”

She nodded sympathetically and did her very best to hide her shock and awe.  He wasn’t looking for a reaction and there was a chance it was something he didn’t enjoy talking about since he liked to believe he was just a guy who fixed cars for a living.  

“You’re seriously overqualified for this babysitting job,” she huffed, trying to get a laugh out of him and getting a tired chuckle instead.  

“I’m underqualified.  I haven’t done anything other than stare at engines for the past three years.”

“I think the fella you just choked out might disagree.”

Dean ducked his head, obviously ashamed.

“Hey,” she said, putting the alcohol pad aside, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

_ Smooth, Donna.  Real sensitive. _

“Bandages,” she said by way of subject change, thankful at least when Dean didn’t feel the need to add to the moment.  He handed the box to her without comment, happy to slouch back and shake the ice pack to keep it cold as he put it back on his face.  Donna took a couple of the strips out of the box and pulled the sticky side off, placing the first on the corner of the gash and pulling so that the edges of the wound met.  The other side was taped down and then she was on to the next strip.

“I don’t regret it,” he said suddenly, drawing her eyes up even as he looked away and went back to studying the wall.  She nodded absently.

_ Of course you don’t _ , she thought to herself.   _ He was going to kill you. _

The visceral truth of that stray idea didn’t hit her until that exact moment, taking root in her chest and blooming outward until she was short of breath and fighting back tears.  She struggled to stay silent, not wanting Dean to notice her sudden breakdown.

He could have died.

With one misplaced step or a second too late to react, Dean wouldn’t have left that stairwell.  Because of her.  Because of her stupid job and stupid boss and her stupid desire to stay alive long enough to testify.  

_ What made her so important? _ she wondered as she fixed more bandage strips into place, hands shaking.  She fixed a wedge of gauze over her work and taped it down to prevent any more infection getting in.   _ What made her life worth more than his? _

Nothing.  

Nothing made her more important than anyone else, stupid testimony be damned.

“All done,” she said shakily before pulling herself back to her feet.  She rooted around in the bag again and found a plastic bottle, opening it and pouring a few white pills into her hand.  “Here, take some of these painkillers.  It’ll at least take some of the edge off so you can sleep.”

“Thanks,” he said, accepting them and tossing them back without the benefit of water to ease the way.  He offered her a tired smile.  “Best nurse I’ve ever had.”

“Then you’ve never seen another nurse in your life,” she answered flatly.  “Come on, let’s think about getting some sleep.”

“You could talk me into that.”

She watched him toss the old ice pack and crack another one.  He toed off his boots, one by one, and collapsed on the bed closest to the door.  Once she might not have given the action a second thought but now she couldn’t help but wonder if that was because he wanted to be between her and whoever might come crashing into the room.  Her throat closed up in anguish because she didn’t deserve that.  

Didn’t deserve him.

“‘Night,” he said sleepily, fluffing his pillow.  “We’ll talk plans in the morning.”

“Sure,” she said absently, sitting on the end of her bed and watching him drift off.  “We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

**…**

 

Gordon Walker was fucking _ livid _ . 

His head was pounding and there was blood smeared on the leather seats of his El Camino.  His  _ own blood,  _ goddamn it.  

What was supposed to be a two-minute job had turned into waking up on his stomach, broken nose still pouring and his throat aching like it was on fire.  He wasn't entirely sure why he woke up at all, frankly.  In the process of losing consciousness he'd made a shaky sort of peace with this being the end of the road, so the only thing he felt upon waking was humiliation and rage.  Lots of rage.

He'd been bitch-slapped and choked out and left behind like trash, not even good enough to kill. 

Gordon had no idea who the guy was but now he knew he wasn't WitSec.  His fighting style wasn't the hands-off hand to hand combat they taught the suits, where all you did was focus on getting away or subduing your opponent.  This guy knew to attack, how to do damage.  Gordon would be willing to bet on military, someone with some time under his belt.  Unfortunately that didn't explain who he was or what he was doing palling around with a federal witness.  All he had was a name. 

Dean. 

Dean with the 1967 Impala, black as night.  

It wasn't much, but it was enough. 

 

**…**

 

It was early.

Not quite five in the morning on a Sunday and the sun hadn’t even considered coming up yet.  The partiers of Trenton had long since gone to bed and even the pious churchgoers had yet to stir in their beds.  Everything was still and quiet, cool dew coating the world outside their motel room.  It glistened in the streetlamps and shimmered like diamonds on the hood of Dean’s car.

Donna was awake and dressed already, room key in one hand and her wallet in the other.  She left the medical supplies on the breakfast table and the food in the rickety refrigerator.  Hopefully Dean would eat when he woke up, maybe even change his bandages before he realized she was gone.  She’d taped her note to the back of the front door, just in case he panicked and thought she’d been kidnapped.  He didn’t need to come looking for her.  She was done pulling everyone else into her living hell - she was releasing him from that responsibility because she didn’t think he’d do it on his own.

 

_ Dean, _

 

_ Sorry to sneak out on you but I knew you'd wouldn't let me go if I tried to talk to you about it.  I think I need to start handling this on my own.  Take responsibility for myself for a change.  It’s gotten too dangerous and I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened. _

_ Make sure you eat and change your bandages, and for heaven’s sake see a doctor if it gets infected.  _

_ Thank you for everything. _

 

 -  _ _Donna__

 

 

She took one last look at the man laying in bed a few feet away and sighed, feeling tears burn at the backs of her eyes.  His dark blond hair was mussed and his mouth had pulled into a deep scowl even in his sleep, dragging a smile from her even while she was busy tormenting herself.  This wasn’t what she wanted.  She didn’t want him hurt.  He was sleeping on his good side to keep the bandage on his knife wound and he’d flung the ice pack off his face during the night.  The swelling had gone down but there was red and purple mottling around his cheekbone.  Wounds, she thought with an ugly knot forming in her throat.  Wounds he’d sustained for her.  

No more.

No more blood, not ever.

Donna silently wished him well and felt the doorknob in her hand, turning it before she had the presence of mind to wonder if she was doing the right thing.  She closed it behind her as quietly as she could, locking it again so that no one could just waltz in if they felt like ransacking the room.  The unlucky thief who tried that was in for a nasty surprise but she didn’t want to risk it.  With a final look back she tucked the room key under the Impala’s windshield wiper and took off across the parking lot, phone in hand and the name of a taxi service on her screen.  

Out of Trenton, then out of Jersey.

Then, who knew? 

Worlds and oysters and all that junk.

“Donna!”

_ Ah, cripes. _

She didn’t turn around.  If she saw his face this would all be over.  She was weak on her own and that weakness was magnified tenfold when Dean was in question.  Instead she sped up, knowing he could easily outrun her but hoping he’d refrain with the slash in his side.

She was wrong.

The sound of her name on his lips and his footsteps hurrying behind her made her slow and the sound of his muffled curse and quick gasp of pain made her stop completely.  There was still a chance that she could talk herself out of this mess and making him hurt himself was not going to further her cause any.  Her mind was made up and the least she could do was hear him out.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously, catching up to her.  He was wearing his ruined t-shirt from the day before, bloodstains and everything.  “Are you crazy?”

“I’m just running an errand.  Go back to sleep.”

He held her note up, clearly unamused.  “Funny, this says otherwise.”

“You’re not going to change my mind, Dean,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.  “This was a bad idea to begin with.  I know your brother was trying to look out for me but this wasn’t the way to do it.”

“So you’re running without me.”

“Yes,” she said defensively, “Yes, I’m leaving.”

“Is this because of last night?” he asked, face hard as stone.

“Of course it is!  How could it not be?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he insisted and she blinked, taken aback.  What the heck was he apologizing to her for?  His eyes fell to his shoes and he repeated, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked, “Sorry for what?”

“For putting you in that situation to begin with,” he replied, rubbing his hand over his face.  “God.  I was supposed to help you and my guard was down.  It won’t happen again.”

Oh, gosh.  

_ No.   _

“You think that’s why?” she whispered, horrified.  

“Why else?”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt again!” she cried, uncaring now that her voice was bouncing all over the neighborhood without so much as a car driving by to drown it out.  “I watched you fight, watched you get cut up and bruised when it was meant for me, and I’m not doing that ever again.  So help me God, I won’t.  Because this entire situation is my doing - my  _ fault  _ \- and I won’t risk anyone else.  I won’t risk  _ you.”   _

He stilled, confusion obvious in his furrowed brow and consternated scowl.  

“You’re leaving because you don’t want me to get hurt?”

“Yah,” she replied, “Obviously.”

“Donna…”

“No,” she said, hating the break in her voice, “Don’t start.  You can’t talk me out of this.  Go back to South Dakota, back to your uncle and your shop.  Go be a mechanic again.  I’ll be fine.”

“And if you’re not?” he asked.  “If the guy from last night finds you again?”

“I’ll carry mace and hope for the best.”

“That’s a good way to get yourself killed.”

“Well, it’s better than getting you killed.”

Dean stared at her and she stared right back.  

“Fine, go.  I’ll just follow,” he told her bluntly.  “You can dismiss me all you want but it doesn’t mean I’m done.  There are people out there who want to hurt you and I'm not about to just walk away from that and let it happen.”

“Dean…”

“Donna.”

“Please,” she begged, tears starting again, “Please don’t make me choose my life over yours.”

“You’re acting like I don’t have a choice in the matter,” he argued angrily.  “I’m  _ choosing  _ to be here.  I’m staying with you because I want to.”

“Stop wanting to!”

“No.”

Donna’s lungs deflated and she turned away, heels of her hands pressed to her eyes, willing herself out of this stupid mess.  If she tried hard enough she would be able to conjure a time machine out of thin air and go back six years, to when she had this stupid idea to go to New York in the first place.  She could have just stayed in Minnesota like her family wanted her to anyway.  There were always jobs there but she felt like she was too good for them at the time.  If she hadn't she would never have met Dick Roman, never would have gotten into all this.

Never would have met Dean.  

Why did that make her feel like her chest was collapsing?

“Stay with me, Donna,” Dean murmured behind her.  “Trust me.”

God help her.

How could she not?

 

 


	10. Come On, Eileen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Eileen pay a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend! Yesterday was a long one so I'm sorry this is coming out a little late.

 

 

__

_**Chapter Nine : Come On Eileen** _

 

 

 

 

Donna ended up paying for another night when eleven o’clock rolled around and Dean was still asleep.  She’d slept more, too, after she’d followed him back to the room and he’d relaxed enough to not worry about her running out on him again.  He hadn’t quite been able to convince her that this was the right move, that there wouldn’t be anymore violence, but here she was.  She promised to trust him and planned to uphold that.  It seemed a small price to pay for someone who was willing to bleed for her, even if that was the last thing she wanted from him.

Close to noon she got a text from Sam, asking for an address and promising updates.  She gave it to him without bothering to wake Dean up and ask if it was okay - there wasn’t a situation where he wouldn’t want to see his brother, she thought.  He couldn’t possibly mind. Sam got there two hours later, while Dean was in the shower.  He'd woken up a few minutes before and looked for her instantly, relieved only when he saw her a few feet away.  She hadn't felt the same relief.  Donna was still sitting on her bed, chewing the skin on her bottom lip and letting herself sink into a funk when she heard someone knocking.  

“I'm coming,” she called, sliding off the bed.  She padded across the room and put her ear to the door.  “Who is it?”

“It's me,” a masculine voice said from the other side, sounding vaguely irritated that he had to identify himself.  Obviously it was Sam but she had a feeling Dean would prefer her to verify any and all visitors. 

“And me!” another voice called, this time female and blessedly familiar. 

Donna unhooked the chain lock and opened the door, her mood lightening ever so slightly to see Eileen standing next to her husband.  They were dressed casually - Lord, had she ever even seen Sam in jeans? - and were both carrying bags. Across Sam’s shoulder she noticed Dean’s duffel bag and in Eileen's arms she saw - gasp!  Her suitcase!  Oh, bless these people.  She ushered them in, suddenly feeling guilty for her pity party a few minutes before.  Who could feel sorry for herself when she had such good people willing to drive across state lines to bring her a change of clothes?  

“Oh, aren’t you two a sight for sore eyes,” she fawned, standing aside for them to come in.  She had the presence of mind to lock the door behind her.  “Did you have any trouble getting here?  I tried to give the best directions I could but we got here in the dead of night so it was a lot of guessing.”

She should have been doing this earlier, she realized.  Gushing over someone else kept her out of her own head.  

“I drove,” Eileen said, setting Donna’s suitcase down and signing along with her words.  “It’s just better that way.  He drives like a nearsighted grandma.”

Donna tilted her head back, laughing heartily while Sam scowled.

“I do not.”  Eileen elbowed him in the ribs and he cracked a begrudging smile.  “So, where’s Dean?  He okay?”

“He’s in the shower,” she answered.  “He’s, uh… a little battered but he swears he’ll live.  I was able to take care of the most of it on my own so it couldn’t have been as bad as I was thinking last night.”

Behind her the shower cut off and Donna looked down at her suitcase.  

“This for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eileen said as Donna pulled it up onto the bed and sat down.  “Sam had me pack your things so I just grabbed what I thought you might need.”

Donna cringed at the idea of Sam trying to go through her underwear drawer.

“Thank you,” she said meaningfully and Eileen snickered like she could read her mind.  “Oh, and even makeup!  My face wash!  You’re a treasure.  I feel terrible now for stealing all of your husband’s time and giving him gray hairs.”

“Don’t let him lie to you,” Eileen replied, “He had those before he met you.”

“Traitor,” he accused indignantly, looking up when the bathroom door opened and a wall of steam poured out with Dean in the middle of it.  “Hey, there you are.”

Dean whirled around, surprised to hear his brother’s voice.  It took Donna a long second to realize that he was wearing nothing but a thin motel towel tied around his waist and then her eyes shot to the floor, heat rising from her toes to the tips of her ears.  Oh, the abs.  His back!  Those shoulders looked like they were carved from marble and encased in smooth skin smattered with dusky freckles.  The dip at his waist… oh, dear God.  This was too much.  So help her, she might die of embarrassment if any of them looked at her for longer than a second.

Eileen caught her eye, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Too late.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean greeted happily, “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Jesus, man,” Sam marveled, catching sight of the bandage on his ribcage, “Is that where he got you?”

“What?  Oh, yeah, I’m okay,” he replied easily, waving him off.  “Donna patched me up last night.  No biggie.”

“Put some clothes on already,” Eileen ordered, heaving his duffel into her arms and tossing it at his feet.  “Have some decency, why don’t you?”

“Hey, that looks familiar.  Thanks,” he said and shot Eileen a wink while he dug some clothes from the top of his bag.  “Sorry about that, Sam.  Didn’t mean to ruin your wife for all other men.”

“Try ruining my eyes for all other sight!” she shot back as he went back into the bathroom.  Donna giggled, thankful for the distraction. There was nowhere for her mind to go but the gutter after that. 

Dean came back out a few minutes later, smelling like generic Irish soap and toothpaste.  Clothed, she noticed.  She was mostly disappointed but at least her dignity was intact.  Drooling would only have damaged her calm-and-in-control persona.  She’d have to think about those long seconds of water droplets on bare skin some other time.  When she was alone.  Very, very alone and not sharing a room with the object of the fantasy.

Somewhere in Minnesota her three brothers spontaneously vomited and her Nana just muttered a curse on her head.  Now she'd probably get boils or something.  Good girls didn't have thoughts like that. 

Worth it. 

“So,” Dean started, “What's the story?”

“The story is that you left a pretty good mess but no body and no knife to corroborate,” Sam sighed, taking a seat the table.  “They did some basic blood tests at the scene but they were all the same blood type so more testing will be necessary.” 

“What, are you saying I invented the guy?  Because I have backup on this.”

“No, I'm saying that the two of you have the same blood type and further testing will be necessary to figure out whose blood belongs to whom.”

“Whom?” Dean asked, tone mocking and Sam shook his head.  There was an unspoken plea there for his brother not to start anything. He seemed relieved when Dean let it go and moved on.  “So what now?” 

“I gave your description to Detective Trenton and he's seeing how far he can take it.   If he gets somewhere we'll ask you to make an ID,” Sam said wearily.  “Or we’re able to isolate his DNA in the spatter and we get an ID that way.  Either way he gets booked an assault with a deadly weapon, possibly attempted murder.”

“Assault?” Dean asked incredulously, “What’s that going to do?”

“It’s going to keep him locked up until we can prove his connections to Roman, or get him to testify that he was hired to kill Donna.”  

“And in the meantime?”

Sam sighed.  “In the meantime… I don't know.  Get comfortable, I guess.  Maybe upgrade to somewhere with a TV.”

“We're not staying here,” Dean said with the utmost certainty. 

Donna looked over, surprised.  “We're not?” 

“No.”

“Well, you want to fill in the rest of the class?” Sam asked, although the question was clearly rhetorical.  

“I'm taking her home, Sam.” 

“I can't go back to Minnesota!” she cried, surprising them both with her outburst.  “My whole family is there and they don't know about any of this!  I don't  _ want  _ them to know about any of this!” 

“Not Minnesota,” Dean corrected her, “My home.” 

Eileen supplied, “South Dakota?”

“We'll stop there so I can check in with Bobby but no.  I'm taking her back to Kansas.” 

Sam’s eyebrows just about hit the roof and this was the first time she’d noticed the lawyer rendered speechless.  And over Kansas, of all things.  Donna wasn't sure why that sounded so dang ominous.  Even Eileen looked surprised.  What was going on here?  What weren't they saying?

“Did you ask  _ her _ about this gosh-forsaken road trip?” Donna asked pointedly, looking back at him.  If he noticed her ire he didn't let on.  He was leaned up against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking calm as could be. “Because I'm pretty sure she has a say.”

He nodded, his tongue sneaking out to caress his top lip like it does when he's thinking.  

“I'd like to take you to Kansas,” he started again, gently, like he was waiting for her to fly off the handle.  Great.  Now she was a spooked horse.  

“Okay,” she allowed, “Why?” 

“No one after you has any clue who I am,” he answered, “And there's no reason to think that they'll figure it out and track us down to my hometown.  I really think it's the safest choice for everyone.”

There it was.  Her buzzword -  _ safe.   _

As in,  _ Come with me and we'll both be safe.  Isn't that what you wanted?   _

“Alright,” she said, nodding.  “Kansas it is.  We'll be back in time for the trial?” 

“With bells on,” he replied, “I promise.” 

“Sam?” she asked, looking back at the man with the deadline.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Sam said distractedly, shaking off his momentary surprise.  “Considering the police report I filed about an attempt on your life I doubt the court will have a problem with you taking off until trial.”

“I’ll update you every so often,” Dean told him.  “Maybe not every day but at least once or twice a week.”

“That would make me feel much better,” Sam replied.  “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he said, “We’ve got one more night in the room that we might as well use.”

“What do you need in the meantime?” Eileen asked, bless her. 

“Could you run me to the bank?” Donna asked suddenly, surprising herself.  She hadn’t even thought about asking.  “I want to get some cash so I don't have to worry about using my card along the way.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said pulling the car keys out of her jacket pocket.  “We'll give them a chance to talk.  They may even need to cuddle, it's been a while.”

Dean snorted indignantly and Sam cried, “Hey!”

“Bye guys,” Donna said, falling in line behind her new best friend as she headed for the door, “Have fun!”

Dean didn't have much time to argue, and strangely he didn't look like he wanted to.  Instead he lifted a hand to wave goodbye and went back to talking intently with Sam.  Donna was floored.  She'd expected at least a little bit of a fight. 

“Why was that so easy?” she murmured to herself as they headed toward the only other car in the lot, a silver hatchback that chirped in happy recognition when Eileen pushed on the key fob. 

“What?” Eileen asked, obviously trying to read her lips.  

“Sorry,” Donna said and raised her head back up so her companion could see her mouth, “I was wondering why that was so easy.”

“What was?”

“Me going out with you.  Usually he puts up more of a fight when I try to go somewhere without him.”

“Oh, it’s because of me,” Eileen answered and got into the driver’s seat.  “He knows I’ve got your back.”

“But you’re tiny.”

She grinned.  “I also teach a krav maga class on the weekends.”

“Whoa,” she marveled. and then cried, “Oh, gosh!  I just body shamed you.  I’m the worst.”

“I’ll try not to hold it against you.”

“Well thank God for that now that I know you can break me in half.”

“So where are we actually going?” Eileen asked as she pulled out of the parking lot. 

“Um, the bank.”

“What?  Really?” 

Donna shrugged.  “It's either that or hope that whoever it is doesn’t know my bank account and can't track my movements.  Why?”

“I’m pretty sure you asked me to take you somewhere to get away for a while, not just to run an errand,” Eileen pointed out and Donna looked down, ashamed that she was so easy to read.  Eileen didn’t let her feel too sorry for herself, adding, “Hey, I get it.  You had a shitty night.  It’s okay to want a break.”

“I do need the bank, though.”

“We can do that first, then.”

“You got something else in mind?” 

“Yup,” she answered simply and kept the rest of the plan to herself. 

 

**… **

 

“So,” Sam said once they listened to the car pull out of the parking space and drive away.  “What really happened?”

“I nearly got my ass kicked,” Dean admitted shamefully, rubbing the back of his neck.  “He was a pro, Sammy.  Not some hired thug.  He put an out of order sign on the elevator and locked down the stairwell, just waiting for us.”

“That’s a scary amount of planning for someone who wasn’t supposed to even know where she was,” Sam admitted, frowning.  

“Donna recognized him.  If she hadn’t stopped for a second and looked at him I wouldn’t have thought twice about him and she’d be gone.”

God, his throat closed up.  The near-miss made his heart hammer.

“But she did, Dean,” Sam said, doing his best to comfort him.  “You got the upper hand and you’re both here.  If you’re going to beat anyone up about this it should be me because I’m the one who begged you to do it.”

Dean shook his head.  “I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t want to be.  Donna and I had this conversation already.”

“What?”

“She tried to bolt this morning,” he said, leaving his place at the wall to sit on the end of Donna’s bed and lean his forearms on the tops of his thighs.  “I woke up and caught up to her, but I really think she would have just taken off.”

“Is she, uh,” Sam started uncomfortably, “Is she still wanting to testify?”

“Yeah.  I don’t think that was the problem.”

“So what was?”

“She…” he paused, gave a humorless chuckle.  “She doesn’t want me to get hurt.  I think last night really freaked her out.”

“That’s very altruistic of her.”  Sam looked at the floor and cleared his throat.  “You know, my interns call her Pollyanna when I’m not listening.”

Dean laughed. “Maybe not quite so naive, but yeah.  Pretty close.  She won’t even curse.”

“So that’s really her?” Sam asked in disbelief.  “I’ve been assuming that the politeness was just a cover.”

“As far as I can tell, yeah,” Dean said and found himself smiling.  “She’s just… happy.  Good.  She’s a good person, trying to do the right thing.”

“Don’t know many of those.”

“Me either.”

“Is that why you’re taking her home?” Sam asked and Dean could hear the slightly mocking tone, “Because she’s a good person?”

“No, we're going because it’s safe there.”

“Nothing to do with those big brown eyes, either, I bet.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Are you seriously doing this right now?” 

“I’m pretty sure this is the only girl you’ve ever brought home willingly,” Sam pointed out with a grin. 

“Shut up,” he shot back, “It’s not like that.”

It was too bad those words rung hollow in his own ears.  Sam raised an eyebrow and the meaning was clear.

_ The hell it isn’t. _

“Well, you know better than I do, obviously,” Sam said with a half smile.  “Just, uh… just be careful, I guess.”

Dean didn’t know if he meant with the contract killers or the fact that Donna had taken up nearly all of his thoughts since they met, so he just nodded.

“Yeah,” he replied.  “Always.”

They sank into comfortable silence, Dean already mapping out the way to South Dakota when Sam cleared his throat, drawing his attention back to his brother.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, observing Sam’s uncertain scowl. 

“I was just thinking,” he replied, wringing his hands.  “You said the guys looking for Donna at the hotel were two white guys with British accents.”

“Yeah.”

“The guy you described to me last night was neither white nor British.”

“Nope,” Dean answered easily.  “I’m having that same thought.”

“Do you think they’re working together?”

Dean thought about it, thought about the way the man handled himself the night before, and slowly shook his head.

“No.  I don’t think so.”  When he saw Sam’s doubtful gaze he added, “He seemed like the loner type, probably doesn’t play well with others.  I’d be really surprised if he even knew the other two were active.”

“So what are we looking at?” Sam questioned. 

“Roman is hedging his bets, I think,” he replied, breathing deep. “He’s got more than one person on the job to make sure it gets done.”

“That’s not good news.”

“Nope.”

 

**...**

 

 “A bar?!” Donna cried, scandalized, as she tucked her tiny tote bag full of cash under the front seat.  

She’d ended up closing her account and taking everything with her - savings and all.  The tote bag wasn’t as full as she was hoping it would be but it was enough to get her through the next few months, at least.  If she didn’t go out to eat.  Or need to sleep somewhere with a roof.

“Yeah, why not?” Eileen answered, unbuckling her seatbelt.  “Don’t tell me you don’t drink.”

“Well, yah, I do, but…”  She cleared her throat.  “It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

“You got something better to do?”

“Well, no, but…”

“New drinking game,” Eileen interrupted, “You have to take a shot every time you say the word ‘but’.”

“But!”

“Oh, that’s one shot already.  Keep arguing.”

Donna zipped it.

Eileen went straight to the bar once they got inside, not at all turned off by the scarce patrons and dim lighting.  The bar itself had been gauged with so much graffiti that Donna wondered why they didn’t just go ahead and turn it into a sculpture of the f-word.  Then again, you couldn’t slide drinks across it that way so maybe not.

“Ladies?” the bartender asked as they sat down.  The man looked like he might be closing in on eighty, which made Donna kind of sad.  He should be retired somewhere, telling stories to his grandkids.  Then she noticed the teardrop tattoos, so maybe not.

“Two tequila shots and a Coke,” Eileen ordered, seemingly unfazed by the man’s quick look of surprise at the sound of her voice.  Poor thing was probably way too used to it, which made the last of Donna’s trepidation dry right up.  

He pulled a tall glass and two shot glasses from behind the bar, filling them up with the practiced hand of someone who’s been doing this for a while.  There wasn’t a single comment on their drinking at three-thirty in the afternoon or the fact that they were the first and only drinkers of the day.  The guy was either the consummate professional or two women day drinking wasn’t a big deal at this point in his life.

“Bottoms up,” Eileen instructed, passing her one of the shot glasses and keeping the other for herself.  

“You’re driving, remember?”

“This my only one,” she answered, “Then I’m on soda.”

“Okay…”

They took their shots simultaneously and Donna cringed at the burn, coughing until Eileen was laughing.  Donna really didn’t want to admit that she’d only ever had tequila if it was mixed into a sickeningly sweet strawberry margarita.  

“Amateur,” Eileen laughed, even if her voice was a little rough too.

“Leave me alone,” Donna replied.  

“Feel better?”

“Sure,” she ventured, shrugging.  “Why not?”

“I know, Dean can be a pill. I’d need a vacation too.”

“What?” Donna exclaimed, “No, it’s not that.  He’s… he’s great.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“No, really,” she said meaningfully, “I promise.  Me and Dean, we’re okay.”

“Looks like it,” Eileen said, a corner of her mouth quirking up.  “You’re so okay that he’s comfortable wearing nothing but a towel around you.”

Donna choked.

“But you were all there, too!”

“He didn’t know that yet,” she pointed out, “Also, that’s another shot.”

She groaned while her glass was filled again, this time not quite three-quarters full.  Either the bartender was taking pity on her or he was aiming for more profit with less product.  Didn’t matter.  The tequila burned as it went down all the same as it did the first time.

“So,” Donna started, emboldened by the buzz in her blood, “What’s the deal with Kansas?”

Eileen looked over and leaned on the bar to get a better look at what she was saying.  

“What do you mean?”

“It was a big deal when Dean said we were going to Kansas,” she replied.  “You all went still and silent and it felt like the Jaws theme was playing in the background.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said and Donna had the way too late realization that Eileen probably didn’t know what that meant.  The woman moved on before Donna had the chance to give a useless apology.  “Well, it’s not been explained to me very well because it happened when Sam and I had just met, but Dean had a pretty good falling out with his dad.  Moved out of Kansas completely and went to live with his uncle.”

“Holy smokes,” Donna marveled, “I can’t imagine Dean fighting with anyone.  Not verbally, anyway.  He’s so easygoing.”

“Are you kidding?” Eileen scoffed, “Dean is straight up anal retentive.  He eats maybe five foods, total. He organizes his tools by function and size.  His shirts are never wrinkled, I’ve never seen a speck of dust in his house, and he doesn’t let another soul drive his car.”

“But I drove his car.”

“Ha!  Another shot!” she cried and then paused.  “Wait, what?”

“I drove his car,” she answered, accepting the refill in her shot glass without much argument.  She knocked it back and coughed out, “Last night, on our way here.”

“You’re kidding.”

Donna shook her head.  “Is that a big deal or something?”

“Um, yeah,” Eileen informed her incredulously.  “Do you know those super macho guys who are so in love with their cars that they call them their babies?”

“Yah.”

“Dean’s car is named Baby.”

Her eyes widened.  “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he was probably concussed at the time,” Donna reasoned, frowning and unwilling to follow the train of thought her brain was trying to push her down.  “I mean, he was being safe.  That’s just good judgment.”

“Whatever you say.”

Her head was spinning, skin warming.  She could blame the tequila and probably would even if she knew better.  The truth was that she was imagining Dean’s low voice, pleading with her to stay with him and the warmth of his hand on her lower back as he led her back to their motel room.

“But!” she suddenly cried, “I bet it won’t happen again.”

“Shot,” Eileen said, tapping on the bar.  

“But!  My stomach is empty!”

“Make it two,” she told the bartender with a wry grin.  “I think she’s getting the hang of this.” 

 


	11. Honey Pie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna is drunk. Way drunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. Sickening fluff ahoy.

 

  
_**Chapter Ten : Honey Pie** _

 

  
“I think I broke her,” Eileen announced dramatically as the motel room door opened with a bang.

  
Dean looked up from his map and set his pen down, surprised to find Donna clinging to his sister-in-law’s waist as Eileen wrangled her into the doorway He jumped off the end of the bed, his first thought that she was hurt, and then a giggle like wind chimes sounded and his heart calmed. Donna’s face was flushed and her hair was loose, curling into waves that spilled over her shoulders. She looked at him with an ecstatic glee that he instantly felt he didn’t deserve.

“Is she drunk?” Sam asked, disbelieving, as the two of them stumbled in.

  
“What? Don’t give me that face,” Eileen argued back, “She was strung higher than a fricking hot air balloon. She needed to relax.”

  
“Oh, I’m relaxed alright,” the woman in question slurred prettily, grinning, “BUT I could use something to eat.”

  
More giggling.

  
“We’re not playing that game anymore,” Eileen told her sternly as she guided her into a chair. She looked over at Dean’s confused expression. “Drinking game. She wasn’t allowed to say the word ‘but’ without drinking.”

  
“I played Eileen her song,” Donna said, crossing her legs and resting her chin in her hand. “I played it so everyone could hear it.”

  
“She forgets that I’m deaf when she’s drunk apparently,” Eileen said, answering both their implied questions. “Hold on, I have to-go bags in the car. Watch her for a second.”

  
“What’s her song?” Dean asked, sitting back down now that he was sure Donna was fine. He was already fighting a smile.

  
“Come on. You know.”

  
“I really don’t.”

  
“Come on!”

  
“Swear to God, I have no idea.”

  
“Come on, Eileen!” she said and giggled some more as her drinking buddy came back through the door with two arms full of plastic bags. Donna sang, “There she is! Come on, Eileen! Oh I swear what I mean! At this moment, you mean everything!”

  
Sam snickered and Eileen shot him a glare.

  
“It seems unfair that I still get tortured with that song even when I can’t hear it,” she grumbled.

  
“Hey, this was your idea.”

  
“And I’d do it again,” she said, putting the bags on the table, “Look how happy she is.”

  
“You make me happy,” Donna replied, reaching out to hold her hand. “We should do this again.”

  
“Let’s wait until you’re recovered first,” she said, putting a styrofoam box in front of her. “Here, eat something.”

  
Dean accepted his own box and thanked her, offering to grab his wallet even as Eileen waved him off. Inside the box was a burger with the works and a mountain of french fries - his stomach rumbled in anticipation and there was a chance he had some tears forming. Starving didn’t even begin to cover it, considering all he’d had all day was the box of granola bars Donna had picked up the night before.

  
They ate and talked, everyone keeping an eye on the drunk at the table. The drunk was pretty oblivious to their attention. Donna was happily chowing down, still humming under her breath as she went. Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen such a good-tempered drunk in his life. Sam got childish, his mother got sleepy, his father got testy, and he sat and brooded. Bobby never seemed to get drunk at all, even when he drank. It was a nice change to just be able to laugh and not worry about a fight breaking out.

  
“I need a shower,” Donna announced suddenly, standing up from the table with a slight wobble.

  
“Don’t look at me,” Eileen said instantly, “We’re leaving.”

  
“I can do it myself, thanks,” Donna informed them, leaning down to Eileen for a big hug that sounded like it was suffocating her. “Thank you for taking me to a bar in the middle of the day. It was fun.”

  
“No problem,” she replied, smirking. Dean ventured a guess that Eileen had enjoyed it, too, and was being a hardass just to keep from admitting it.

  
“And Sam!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his waist as he stood. “You’re such a good, hard worker. Thank you for coming to see us. We’re going to be careful from now on, I promise. No more drama.”

  
“Good to know,” Sam replied with a tentative smile as Donna let him go and went to rummage in her suitcase. He looked at his wife. “Ready?”

  
“Yup,” she replied, waving at Dean. “See ya later. You have fun with all this.”

  
“We’ll be okay,” Dean said, looking at Donna as she dug around. “With the food she’ll sober up in no time.”

  
Eileen scoffed. “You say that, but I know how many times she said ‘but’.”

  
Everyone traded more hugs on the way out the door, ending with Sam pulling him in with a gruff order to watch his back. To anyone else it would have sounded like a threat but Dean knew it was his little brother worrying so he made sure to give him an extra slap on the back and more assurances that he would be fine. Nerves rolled off of Sam in waves but he still held the car door open for Eileen as she got into the driver’s seat, giving Dean one last wave before he got into the car and they drove away.

  
Weirdly, his own nerves had calmed.

  
Waking up with Donna gone had rattled him. No, beyond rattled. It scared him shitless until he found her note, after which he had no choice but to chase after her with the sound of the door closing still in his ears. The thought of Roman’s goons getting to her had him running after her, desperate to keep her close. They worked it out, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction. She trusted him enough to stick around and here she was, muttering to herself about Eileen leaving her favorite t-shirt back in the apartment. It probably wouldn’t occur to her for another few hours that Eileen couldn’t know she even had a favorite t-shirt.

  
“Oh, fishsticks,” Donna swore behind him and he suppressed a smile, locking the door and turning to find her with clothes spread across the length of her bed.

  
“Problem?”

  
“Yah,” she said adamantly, “I lost my good face wash. I know Eileen put it in here because I saw it earlier but now it’s gone and that’s stupid.”

  
“Is it the blue bottle on your pillow?” he asked.

  
“What? Oh. Yah, it is.”

  
He grinned. “Happy to help.”

  
“Don’t go anywhere,” she ordered, pointing a finger at him. “I’m going to wash my hair.” Her serious expression vanished in a fit of giggles. “Sorry. The rhyming wasn’t on purpose.”

  
He liked drunk Donna.

  
He’d like any version of Donna.

  
Dean watched as she gathered her things and stumble-swayed into the bathroom, silently hoping she made it through the shower without crashing into something. He wasn’t sure she’d ever recover from him having to scoop her up from the bathroom floor. There’s a chance he’d never recover either, not with the fleeting, hazy idea of bare skin dancing in the recesses of his mind. Even the suggestion of joining her in the shower was enough to make his blood pressure jump and his mouth go dry.

  
Instead of heading down that road he went back to his bed and picked up his map again, comforted by the thick and heavily creased paper between his fingers. He’d had this map of the US since he was in middle school, when Bobby had given it to him as a gift. Hundreds of road trips had been planned on this thing, highways and cities marred with tiny puncture wounds where he’d put pins in them at some time or another. Now he followed the highways with a mounting sense of calm, already connecting paths in his head that would lead back to home.

  
They wouldn’t take the direct route, he decided almost instantly.

  
The scenic route would be better, foremost for picking out any possible tails and secondly to give them a little bit of downtime. Adrenaline had been high for days, Donna had been stressed enough to let Eileen get her shitfaced, so maybe a little sightseeing wasn’t a bad idea. Hell, he wouldn’t mind it either. Two and a half weeks indoors was a bit much for him and it had been a while since the open road had called to him so strongly. So long as he was sure no one was following them there was some comfort in the idea that they were safe to do as they pleased. Everything from here on out was connected only to him - none of it to her - and that freedom tasted sweeter than he expected.

  
_Tennessee maybe_ , he mused to himself as he stared down Interstate 81. He’d caught Donna humming some old country music on more than one occasion. She might like some of the museums there, maybe a show or two. Mostly he was after the food, but he could stomach a Conway Twitty cover band for a few hours if it meant she was having a good time.

  
The bathroom door opened again and he looked up to find Donna in a thin white tank top and pajama pants, smiling warmly at him with a buzzed glaze still in her eyes.

  
“Hey there,” she said, her slur a little clearer than it was before dinner.

  
“Hey yourself,” he replied, unable to take his eyes off the flare of her hips as she moved. This was the first thing he’d ever seen her in that didn’t flow out around her and after this he would mourn every moment that came before it.

  
Donna didn’t notice his attention at all. She was busy flinging her scattered clothes back in her bag, singing under her breath again. Always singing. He didn’t think he knew this one at all, though. It didn’t sound like any of the crap he heard on the radio these days and she didn’t seem to like new music anyway. The alcohol had left a gentle lilt to her words that made his chest hurt a little when it hit his ears.

  
“Honey pie, you are making me crazy - I’m in love but I’m lazy, so won’t you please come home…”

  
Even the lyrics eluded him.

  
“Oh, honey pie…” she murmured, still on key, “My position is tragic - come on show me the magic…”

  
This was quickly approaching dangerous territory.

  
“I was thinking we sleep in tomorrow,” he said suddenly, stopping her mid-verse and drawing her eyes up to meet his. “Well, you were going to anyway but now at least I can plan on it.”

  
She didn’t so much as scowl, her full lips still widened into a peaceful smile.

  
“Sure, honey pie. Whatever you want to do is fine.”

  
Dean blinked but she went about what she was doing, stuffing clothes haphazardly into her suitcase and zipping it up. She tossed it into the corner like a lead weight and crawled onto the bed. He unwillingly thought of a cat as she arched her back up and took a deep breath that slowly turned into a groan, suggesting that the feeling of her lungs filling up was immensely satisfying. Once she came back down to the bed she flung her arms up above her head, wiggling until she was comfortable enough to stay put. Dean’s eyes hadn’t moved from her in close to five minutes.

  
“Whatcha thinking about?” she asked suddenly, eyes closed.

  
“Highways,” he lied effortlessly.

  
“Mmm.”

  
“What about you?” he asked on a whim.

  
“Me what?”

  
“What are you thinking about?” he clarified, feeling stupid.

  
“Kansas,” she answered dreamily.

  
“Have you been before?”

  
“Nope,” she replied, “Not once.”

  
“You may find yourself a little disappointed,” he muttered dryly. “It's not known for its wild nightlife.”

  
“I don't know,” she replied, “Kansas City seems like it's pretty neat.”

  
He shrugged. “It's not bad. I haven't been in a few years, though.”

  
“What does a grumpy old man do in Kansas City, anyway?”

  
“Hey!” he objected indignantly, “Who said anything about old?”

  
“You scowl and complain better than my grandfather, and he's going on ninety.”

  
Dean scowled. He couldn't help it.

  
“I'm not that much older than you,” he pointed out, “So if I'm old then you're right there with me.”

  
“How old are you?”

  
“I just turned thirty-eight.”

  
Donna grinned and sat up on her elbow to look at him. “I'll be thirty-one in October so keep dreaming, old man. I'm still a spring chicken.”

  
“You're younger than I thought,” he admitted reluctantly, turning his attention back to the map. He hadn’t expected such an age difference between them, although in their thirties it hardly mattered. “I'll try to keep my gray hairs to myself, then. And you can just get used to dinner at three o'clock in the afternoon.”

  
“Oh, don't get grouchy with me,” she said, propping herself up to get off the bed and shuffle in his direction. He watched helplessly as she crawled into his bed and curled up next to him, tucking her legs under her and resting her head on his shoulder. “Besides, you don't have any gray hairs.”

  
“You seem pretty sure about that,” he quipped, impressed that she could understand him with his heart in his throat. He could smell her soap, something he was sure was probably generic but smelled sweet anyway when spread across her skin.

  
“You betcha. I checked.”

  
“You did?”

  
“In the car,” she said, “When I was waiting to see if you were going to slip into a coma. I stared at you for a long time.”

  
He didn’t know what to make of that.

  
“You let me drive,” she told him wistfully and he could feel the light caress of her breath across his neck.

  
“What?” he asked, swallowing against the mounting constriction of his lungs. She was warm and soft and the flamingos on her pajama pants were smiling at him like they knew exactly what he was thinking.

  
“You let me drive your car,” she expanded. “Eileen told me things about you, today at the bar. She said that no one is allowed to drive your car but I told her that you let me drive us here and she was surprised.”

  
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he commented blandly. How easy would it be to slip his arm around her now, while she was tucked against him. “You know. Head injury and all.”

  
“Mmm, that’s what I said,” she replied, “But Eileen made a face so I had to take a drink to keep her from hearing my thoughts.”

  
Whatever that meant.

  
“So,” she segued, “Where are we going?”

  
“Still deciding,” he told her and it was only a little bit of a lie. He’d already made his decision but he wanted it to be at least a little bit of a surprise.

  
“I’m excited to see your house.”

  
He looked down at her in surprise.

  
“What? Why?”

  
“Because it has you in it,” she answered, pulling her head off his shoulder to look at him. Her eyes had cleared up some but her face was still flushed, hair now drying into a riot of messy waves.

  
“Actually I’m in Jersey at the moment,” he replied stupidly, just because it was all he could say when his heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest to get to her. She didn't see his agony, didn't begrudge him his rambling excuse for a comeback. Donna just smiled so wide her eyes crinkled.

  
“Yah,” she sighed, “Me too.”

  
Donna dipped her head forward slowly, with the moseying wander of a drunk, but still Dean felt like she’d taken him by surprise when their lips met. She was soft and unhurried, acting like they had all the time in the world to sit and enjoy each other. His ears buzzed and his eyes closed, skin alight with the sensation of her hands fisted in the side of his shirt. His brain finally caught up to the idea that Donna was kissing him and he dropped the map, casting it off to drag his fingers through the fine hairs behind her ear and tilt her closer. She tasted like mint and the lingering bite of Jose Cuervo.

  
Tequila.

  
Donna was drunk.

  
_Fuck._

  
She pulled away before he had the chance to do it himself, longing sharpening the feel of her absence until he ached with it. Her expression didn’t say anything about regret, though. The peaceful smile was still in place and she was still looking at him with what he couldn’t only describe as affection.

  
“I think you’re perfect,” she confessed in a whisper and he’d never felt more unworthy in his life.

  
“I think you’re drunk,” he countered.

  
Donna giggled.

  
“Only tonight,” she said, “But don’t worry, you’ll be perfect tomorrow too. I just might not tell you about it.”

  
“Fair enough,” he murmured and watched as she settled back into him, head against his chest. This time he did let his arm wrap around her, if for no other reason than to keep her from rolling off the bed if she wobbled.

  
At least that was what he told himself.

It was barely eight but Donna sank into sleep anyway, wrapped around his waist and her cheek resting just above his heart. The pang he felt at the sight of her stretched across him was bone-deep, a rush of feeling that twisted him into knots he wasn’t sure he could ever untangle. Later he’d feel the guilt - for not pulling away, sooner, for taking advantage when she was clearly and definitely intoxicated. For instantly wanting to let his hands wander, for dying to know if she would arch into his touch the way she had on the bed a few minutes earlier, for wanting to hear her low groans of satisfaction again when he drank her in.

  
He’d keep himself in check tomorrow, he promised silently as he settled in and reached for the bedside lamp. It plunged them into darkness, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlights in the parking lot outside. For now he would accept the bittersweet throb of wanting her, would relish the memory of her mouth on his, and he’d keep her close enough to touch.

  
Tomorrow he’d be a better man.

  
Tonight he’d be a weak one.

 

**…**

 

“Your brother’s in deep shit,” Eileen pointed out as she got onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

  
Sam nodded seriously.

  
“Yup.”

 


	12. Maybe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter! I wrote this but it didn't seem to fit in anywhere, certainly not with the next chapter, so now there's just some DeanxDonna fluff/angst laying around. Why not share it?

 

 

__

_**Chapter Eleven : Maybe** _

 

 

 

Donna woke in a cocoon of warmth, the smell of leather and clean cotton drifting into her awareness long before the morning sun could.  A gentle rhythm beat under her ear, the relaxed cadence doing its best to lull her back to sleep but the damage was done.  She was awake and mindful, not just of the fact that her head was pounding and her mouth felt like the planet’s most barren desert.  The most painful awareness was of the fact that she’d abandoned all respectability and clung to Dean in her sleep, working herself around him like the climbing vines in her mother’s garden.  

Her leg had intertwined with his, thighs touching.  Warm even through their barriers of fabric.  Arm still wrapped around his middle, face still buried in his chest as though she expected him to chase away the coming day before it could touch her.  In this suspended reality touching was allowed, maybe.  Maybe.  Because at least Dean hadn’t thrown her off.

Their kiss worked its way into her memory slowly, like cream poured into coffee until it swirled and melded and set into her consciousness.  

To her credit, she didn’t panic.  

She didn’t jump out of bed and shriek like a middle schooler, both humiliated and thrumming with excitement.  Considering she’d planted a drunken smooch on the man who’d selflessly devoted himself to protecting her, her dignity was remarkably intact.  Then again, she hadn’t yet figured out if he was awake.  There was still a chance he’d chosen not to move her out of pity, and would recoil as soon as she showed signs of consciousness.  Dean had been an utter gentleman in every other way since meeting him but there was a first time for everything, and she really wouldn’t blame him.  

The only thing disputing this was the arm currently draped down her back, held on at the slope of her waist, fingers firm as they pressed into the thin cotton camisole she was wearing.  She could just make out every individual fingertip on her skin.  The thought of losing this was enough to make her close her eyes again, not quite willing to give it up because there was no way things were going to go back to normal after this.  Her only hope was that Dean could forgive her for her drunken advances and they could move on. 

“Morning,” he grumbled and she could feel the resulting vibration down to the tips of her toes.  “I can feel you thinking.”

She yawned, braced herself, and lifted her head, expecting to see a bored expression on his face.  Or worse, one of quiet disgust.  

Donna was well aware at this point in her life that men who looked like Dean didn’t often suffer women who looked like her, and that was even if they were able to overlook her accent and obnoxiously sunny personality.  There had been plenty of time in grades seven through twelve for her to make peace with that so it was an ugly surprise when she found his expression warm and open, seemingly happy to see her even after she spent the night stuck to him like a barnacle.  

Maybe he’d chosen to ignore the kiss.

Maybe it hadn’t wormed its way under his skin and taken up residence, sentencing him to a state of hunger that rendered him permanently breathless and raw.  

Maybe it wasn’t killing him like it was killing her.

 

**…**

 

Dean was dying. 

Waking up to her messy hair and wide eyes had felt like a rock-hard fist to his solar plexus, winding him and knocking him off balance when she first blinked away sleep and pretended to yawn so he wouldn’t know she’d been awake for a few minutes already.  All Dean could think about was the way she’d leaned into him for a taste, and all he wanted now was another try - another chance to chase the high she’d left him with when her lips had left his behind.  

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, excusing herself and letting her eyes fall from his as though embarrassed.  “That probably wasn’t a very good night’s sleep for you.”

Best he’d had in years.

“There’s no such thing as bad sleep,” he said instead and she nodded, sending him an unsure look before ducking out from under his arm and heading to the bathroom. 

The sight of her walking away hurt more than he expected.

Maybe she didn’t remember the kiss.  

Maybe kissing him hadn’t thrown a lit match to dry tinder, lighting her up and leaving her to smolder long after everything in her world had gone up in flames.

Maybe the kiss wasn’t killing her the way it was killing him.  


	13. One Way or Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An only mildly interesting point A to point B chapter. Necessary for what's coming but not a whole lot of fun in itself, with the exception of Dean having a mild cow. Thanks for reading, guys!

 

 

_**Chapter Twelve : One Way or Another** _

 

  

 

Donna’s apartment hadn’t been improved by becoming a crime scene.

Realistically, it wasn’t much of one.  All the action had happened in the stairwell but it didn’t mean that NYPD hadn’t cordoned it off all the same, bright yellow tape and everything.  Mostly the neighbors didn’t seem to care, which suited Detective Cole Trenton just fine.  It was hard enough working with half a dozen unis under his feet - he didn’t need the rubberneckers, too.  This was all a formality, a pipe dream that maybe Donna’s attacker had spent some time in her home, left some of himself behind. 

It was a stretch. 

Still, he wasn’t in the habit of ignoring avenues of investigation just because they might be long shots.  

Donna hadn’t even had time to get unpacked before trouble arrived, all her belongings still in hastily labeled boxes and thrown haphazardly around the apartment.  The only things Trenton could tell she’d done were hanging the TV and placing sheets on the bed.  A few boxes of clothes had been unpacked and he knew that Sam had collected some of Donna’s possessions to take to her, wherever she’d ended up.  She was nearby, he knew, but not for long.  The plan was to take their show on the road until the trial started, which Trenton had to agree was smarter.  It was harder to hit a moving target and Donna had at least one shooter aiming for the bullseye.  

“Detective!”

Trenton looked up from his intense study of Donna’s 2015 planner, filled with her overtly feminine handwriting and silly drawings in the margins.  Neither of those things were surprising to Trenton, who had spent entire weeks poring over evidence that Donna had given them at the time of Roman’s arrest.  At this point he could probably forge Donna’s signature in his sleep. 

“Yeah, what?” he asked, putting the planner down but making a note to check back when his attention was sharper.

“I think it’s a bug,” the uniform said, handing him a small jewelry box with an ornate silver cross on the top.  Sure enough, he opened it and ignored the chunky costume jewelry to find a small silver disc clinging to the box’s lid.  

“I think you're right, Officer Francis,” Cole replied distractedly. “Bag it and take it to Bradbury in forensics.  Maybe she can get something from it.” 

The bug itself wasn’t the problem, Trenton thought as the officer took out an evidence bag and gingerly poured the bug inside.  The problem was that he recognized the model, even knew how to attach it and activate it.

Last he checked, only cops had access to it.

Shit.

Stepping back out into the hall, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the name he wanted, hitting the dial button and putting the phone to his ear while the unis milled around in the apartment without him.  The line picked up in fewer than five rings.

“This is Sam,” the prosecutor answered, sounding annoyed already.

“It’s Detective Trenton.”

“Hey, Detective.  How’s it going?”

“It’s going,” he answered noncommittally and looked around the hallway for signs that someone was listening in.  “We’ve got a little bit of a problem.”

“We have enough problems.”

“Don’t I know it,” Trenton replied, “But this one’s a little bigger.  I think the guy who’s after Donna may be a cop.”

Sam sucked in a quick breath.

“You’re sure?”

“No,” he answered honestly, “But we just got our hands on a tracking device in Donna’s apartment, and I know for a fact that it’s a model reserved for law enforcement.”

“Past or present?”

“Unsure,” he answered, “But it seems like the current model in circulation.”

“I assume you’re getting it to Charlie.”

“She’ll have it on her desk by lunch,” Trenton told him, already second guessing his decision to have a uni take it.  He should take it himself.

“Can they be traced?”

“Normally I’d say no, but that redheaded genius seems to enjoy making me look like a liar.”

Winchester laughed.  “Yeah, she’s good at that.”

It was a really good thing she was on their side.

“You’ll update me if you hear anything else?”

“Sure thing.”

“Thanks, Detective.”

“No worries.  Talk soon.”

Trenton ended the call and slid his phone back in his pocket, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.  He could feel his ulcer firing up again.  Looking for some two-bit hitman from the classifieds was one thing - looking for a cop turned killer for hire was a whole other bag of piranhas that he was loathe to stick his hand into.  Now he got to start plugging in the description of Donna’s attacker into the personnel records rather than VICAP, which burned him up.  

This was not the best start to his week.

 

**…**

 

Gordon Walker stepped down into the squad car, closing the door beside him as he turned to face the man in the driver’s seat.  

“You look like shit,” Keith Jeffries said with a dumb smirk, clearly pleased with himself to be pointing out the obvious. As though Gordon’s swollen nose and black eyes hadn't been testament enough to his fuckup.  The only reason he managed to keep his temper under control was that Jeffries was still useful, at least for a little while.

“Thanks for noticing,” he said instead, rubbing his hand over his face.  If it was close to excruciating but he deserved it so he didn’t lessen the pressure as he passed down his broken nose.  “I need access to the DMV database.”

“What, not even a ‘Hey, how are you?’” Keith needled.

He didn’t have time for this.

“Hey, Keith, how are you?  I need access to the DMV database.”

“What, forgot your passwords?”

Gordon aimed a clearly forced smile at him.  “My password hasn’t worked for years now.”

“Yeah, alright,” he said and dug around his dirty car for a spare napkin.  Gordon was only mildly disgusted to see that the beige napkin had a grease stain and a crumb of something indistinguishable on the corner.  He watched silently while the idiot wrote down logon information to a database open to police only.  He’d had to steal an NYPD laptop and jailbreak it to use the application but that was the least of his crimes.  His rap sheet might be clean but his soul was filthy. 

“So, how’s it going?” Jeffries asked congenially, clearly starved for company.

“Thanks for this,” Gordon said, taking the grotty napkin and holding it up helpfully because he half expected Jeffries to ask him  _ what for _ ?  “I appreciate you, as always.”

“Hey, man, don’t even worry about it,” the man responded, “What’s a favor between investigators?  Even if you’ve ditched the badge and gone private.”

It wasn’t the idiot’s fault for thinking that - Gordon’s PI license was perfectly legal.  The move was necessary in maintaining his more legitimate contacts.  

“See you next time,” Gordon said pleasantly, happy now that he’d gotten what he wanted.  “I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Sure thing, I’m off tomorrow-”

“You be safe out there,” Gordon interrupted and climbed out of the car, sending him a friendly wave before taking off in the opposite direction.  The napkin was pressed into his jacket pocket and his fingers itched to get back to his motel room and type in the hastily scribbled characters that would offer him the key to his target’s mystery man.

Dean.

1967 Impala.

Black.

Younger than forty, tall, with light hair and eyes.  

Possibly military.  

Finding him was going to be work - days, possibly weeks, of relentless filtering and searching through every state database in the continental US - but Gordon practically skipped back to his El Camino anyway, knowing success was within reach.  He’d find Dean and remove him from the equation, maybe after he has him watch Donna Hanscum bleed out in front of him.  That way Dean could taste failure the way he had, waking up on a cold concrete floor with a broken nose and bruised throat.

It was only a matter of time.

 

**…**

 

They packed and left an hour before their eleven o’clock checkout time, Donna milling around the room while Dean packed the car.  The anxious energy she’d woken up with dissipated with time and distance, fading to the background by the time he’d showered and dressed.  Now she was taking the time to reorganize her suitcase, clearly displeased with the way her drunk self had just shoved everything inside without much consideration for how her clothes would be wrinkled the next time she opened it.  He did his best not to comment on it, even if he really wanted to poke a little fun at her drunken good humor.  He didn’t make much noise at all, frankly, because he wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.  

No, that wasn’t right.

He knew exactly where  _ he  _ stood.

In just twelve hours Dean had taken stock of his surroundings and come to the realization that he adored the woman who slept next to him the night before.  Liking her hadn’t been a surprise - they’d gotten along well since they met, from pretty much the first moment and the first look and the first word that ever settled between them.  It was that initial fondness that put him in this position because… now.  Now like had surrendered itself to something much more powerful.  

Now Dean had been afflicted with  _ want _ .  

He wanted Donna.

It was a tangible presence under his skin, molten and insistent and building with every glance of his eyes over her face.  Her voice was sweet, her face was kind and gently playful, and even the memory of her body pressed so close against him sent his head spinning.  His every other thought was of how he might convince her to get a little closer, to look at him a little longer.  If he could draw her to him with the power of his mind they would have already been in a heap on the bed, bare skin and heavy breathing…

Nope.

Not going there.

He had to get out of this motel room with his dignity intact, for God’s sake.  Keeping his duffel conspicuously in front of his fly hadn’t fooled anyone in middle school and it wasn’t going to fool anyone now.  

The only thing that kept him from sidling up to her now was the brief flashes of guilt that came across her face then their eyes met.  Not regret, necessarily.  Not like she wished nothing had happened between them, but guilt.  As though she owed him an apology for that kiss - like it hadn’t been the highlight of his last decade.  Like he wasn’t already thinking of ways he could get another.  

It bothered him.  

Not because she should be thrilled about kissing him - that was ridiculous and his ego hadn’t gotten quite that far out of control yet.  It was because some part of her thought that he wouldn’t want her to.  Dean barely suppressed a laugh at the thought because that was even more ridiculous than the thought of her being jazzed about kissing him. As if he wouldn’t want her to, as if he wouldn’t cheerfully kiss her for hours on end of his own free will.  

But even that thought made him pause because… would he?

Yeah.

He absolutely would.

Hell, he would be fine if she just cuddled up next to him in bed again, no kissing involved if she didn’t want to.  

It was time, he admitted to himself, to start accepting how he felt about Donna.  Even if she didn’t return it, even if he never got another kiss, he would still have feelings.  Feelings about how great she is and how sweet and how gorgeous.  Those feelings would probably still pester him every few seconds as he was trying to unlock Baby’s trunk one-handed, making the job way harder than it had to be.  They would make his chest ache when she laughed and they would force his eyes to linger a little longer than necessary when she bent over to grab her shoes from under the motel bed.  

Maybe he should start feeling her up.

Out!

Feeling her out!

Just to see.  Just to see if the kiss was a drunk thing that just happened or a drunk thing that happened because she already had the hots for him when she started drinking.  And even that thought - the inkling that maybe Donna had feelings too - oh, man.  He was about ready to jump out of his skin.  He hadn’t felt this young since he was actually eighteen, crushing on the redhead on the front row of his math class senior year.  Jessica, maybe?  

Not the point.

The point was that Dean could flirt, he could figure out what was going on in that head of hers.  He could totally do that.  He had charisma, damn it, and his looks hadn’t faded that much.  There was a time that he’d never left a bar alone but that was a few years ago and Jesus Christ maybe he’d lost his touch.  He’d definitely lost his touch if Donna thought she’d taken advantage of him against his will.  

No.

He could do this.

He would give it a go, introduce his interest into the situation, and she how she responded.  If he could dust off the old wink and smile he’d perfected in his twenties this would already be a done deal.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Blondie taunting him.

_ One way or another…  _

 

 

 


	14. Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Donna do Tennessee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! More fun!

 

 

_**Chapter Thirteen : Something** _

 

 

 

Donna loved Tennessee.

She took to it like a duck to water, wading in without a single look back.  Every passing minute lent confidence to Dean’s decision, until he smiled right along with her whenever she found another Dolly Parton impersonator.  It was hard to deny her enthusiastic smile and ecstatic laughter every time someone dipped their cowboy at at her and called her “little lady”.  Now he had to worry about staying too long because there was a chance she'd refuse to leave - especially on their last day in town while she was looking through a gleaming shoe store window, advertising the most hideous boots he’d ever seen in his life.

“You’re kidding.”

“Hush.”

“I haven’t even started yet.”  That earned him an eye roll.  “My first question is where in God’s name would you even wear them.”

“Out,” she said as though he were a particularly dim bulb doing its best to stay on, “Obviously.”

“Yeah,” he scoffed, “Obviously.”

“Can I?” she asked breathlessly and the tone of voice might have been a little more exciting had she not been looking at hunks of dyed leather peppered with rhinestones.

“Yeah,” he answered fondly, “So long as I’m allowed to judge you the entire time.”

“Oh, you don’t need my permission for that,” she said, “You were going to anyway.”

He scoffed again but it didn’t deter her any, not that he expected it to.  She rushed in headlong, going straight to the pair she’d seen in the window.  Dean stayed close and took stock of their surroundings, which were comprised of a hole in the wall boutique covered in cheetah print and faux fur.  There were two women his mom’s age ogling a purse with turquoise stones on it and a teenager with her mother, arguing how a particular pair of sky-high heels with fake diamonds all over them would go just _perfect_ with her prom dress.  He didn’t envy that conversation.  He was better off with Donna and the salesgirl, who looked like she was a few seconds away from a nap.  None of them seemed much like a threat but he wasn’t in the habit of relaxing in the three days since they’d left New Jersey.  

“Ha!” Donna cried triumphantly, sliding a glossy black box the size of a pizza box out from the shelf.  “They even have my size!”

“Of course they do.”

“Hush!”

She flipped open the lid and he fought the urge to cringe away from the monstrosities within.  The traditional cowboy boots looked like they would come up to just below her knee and were covered in buttery leather the color of dark chocolate.  On the body of each boot was a giant graphic of the state of Texas, complete with the Texan flag over the top of it.  The finishing touch was a truly maniacal level of rhinestones, covering every inch of the material that wasn’t attached to the foot of the shoe itself.  The stones over the flag even had red, white, and blue stones so that the colors didn’t fade to the background.  

“They’re awful,” Donna whispered, awestruck.  “I love them.”

“You realize those two sentences make no sense together, right?”

She ignored him, finding a bench and toeing off one of her tennis shoes.  The way she touched the boot as she lifted it from the box suggested reverence that Dean deeply felt was undeserved.  

“Have you ever been to Texas?”

“Pfft.  Yah, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I went to Dallas once,” she said and looked away, mumbling something under her breath.

“What was that?”

“I’ve been to the airport,” she said, eyes purposefully not meeting his, “I had a layover at DFW once a few years ago.”

Dean snorted.  

He literally couldn’t help it.

“Besides,” she continued, refusing to address his mirth, “I’ve been thinking about developing an alter-ego.  An alias.”  

“Oh?”

“I can’t just go giving my real name out,” she said, whispering it from the corner of her mouth so dramatically that it was perfectly understandable.  He did his best not to laugh.  “What happen if someone hears it and Googles me?  That could set off some program to tell him where someone is Googling me from and he’ll know where to come.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re watching too much TV.”

“And if you don’t think the government can do what’s on TV already you’re out of your dang mind,” she countered.

“It’s not the government who’s tracking you.”

“He could have friends, you don’t know.”

He rolled his eyes expertly, giving her a run for her money.

“Anyway,” she continued pointedly, “I’ve put some thought into this and I think I’m going to use another name in public.  You know, just in case.”

“And would this alias be from Texas, by any chance?” he asked, leaning back against the shelf while Donna plucked the tissue paper out of the boot.

“How’d ya know?”

“Just a guess.”

“I can do the accent and everything.  I’ve been practicing in the shower.”

_That_ at least explained a lot.  

“Here I thought our neighbor was speaking in tongues.”

“Yah, yah,” she dismissed, sliding the boot onto her foot.  It didn’t really match the pale jeans she was wearing but she at least got the idea, turning her foot from side to side and admiring the little crystal things as they flashed in the store’s overhead lights.  Dean thought they might be a safety hazard - just a glance at the things might blind oncoming traffic - but Donna looked at them like they were the holy grail of footwear.

“They’re perfect,” she marveled breathlessly.  “What do you think?”

“They’re, uh… they’re something.”

She grins.  

“Ya know, I bet they have a pair in a men’s size.”

“Like hell,” he told her emphatically but he was still trying not to smile.

“Alright, let’s see how much the damage is,” she said, pulling the box into her lap and checking the orange sticker on the side.  Her instant look of revulsion told him it wasn’t good.  “Holy cow!  Are these people kidding me right now?!”

“Problem?”

“We are not getting these,” she said, just about tearing the boot off her foot and shoving it back into the box.  “I am not paying two hundred dollars for a pair of shoes.  That’s crazy talk.”

“Not even for your alias?” he joked and she glared up at him.

“Especially not for her.  She can go barefoot for all I care.”

Dean snickered as she put her own shoe back on, tying the laces in a hurry as though someone was about to chase her from the store once they’d figured out she wasn’t going to buy anything.  He watched while she slid the box back onto the shelf and waved him toward the door.

“Come on,” she urged, “We gotta get out of here.”

She didn’t slow down until they were a block away, headed for a food truck that promised gourmet mac and cheese with any topping he could imagine.  He could imagine a lot.  It wasn’t until they were sitting side by side at a white picnic table across the street that he noticed her looking back at the store, straining to see if the pair she wanted was still in the window.  As though anyone would have snatched them up in the last half hour.  She didn’t mention them again for the rest of the day, happily leading them back to the hotel so she could rest her feet after a long day of walking.

Dean went back while she was in the shower, giving the excuse of needing to fill Baby’s tank while he was thinking about it.

He bought her the shoes, because of course he did.

He didn’t know when he’d give them to her, didn’t know what kind of moment would make a random gift of gaudy shoes seem appropriate, but when it did he’d be ready.  Knowing Donna she’d feel horribly guilty and try to make him take them back so maybe it would be better to wait until they’d left Nashville in their rearview mirror.  Maybe after a few miles and the realization that they were hers she’d flash him the blinding, toothy smile he so loved.  That alone was worth far more than what the shoes cost, so he smiled at the bored salesgirl like he was getting the horrible things at a steal.  

His little plan had him in such a good mood that later that night, when Donna wanted to hit up a bar she’d seen a flyer for earlier in the afternoon, he went right along with it.  A Beatles-slash-Lynrd Skynrd cover band was playing, she’d told him earnestly.  Like that made any sense whatsoever.  She’d patiently explained that they played Beatles songs in the style of Skynrd and it did nothing to clear up his confusion.  

Still, that smile dragged him down and he went willingly, following her back out into the humid night air.  They walked to the bar together, Donna leading the way because apparently she already knew where the place was.  His eyes stayed transfixed on her blonde hair as it swung between her shoulder blades and caught the light from the streetlamps.  

He’d follow her anywhere.

It didn’t bother him anymore.

 

**…**

 

This was the best idea Donna had ever had.

It had been ages since she’d had an ice cold beer - Eileen’s tequila absolutely did not count - and there were more than enough people in the bar to keep her anonymous.  Dean had scored them a little round table toward the side of the room, out of the way but still close enough to the stage that the speakers vibrated her lungs during the guitar solos.  Seeing this flyer had been destiny, she thought.  Her mother’s love for the Beatles had bordered on religious while she was growing up and her father had instilled her with a deep love for the Southern rock scene.

Free Bird in the Sky with Diamonds had gained a die-hard fan two minutes into the set.  Heck, she already had her eye on a distressed gray t-shirt from the merchandise table.  Sadly they didn’t seem to have any CDs - something told her Dean would be breathing a sigh of relief.  He had to at least pretend to hate every second of this, even if she caught him tapping his foot once or twice.  She didn’t press.  He had to save face somehow and she had to let him, if only because he was sweet enough to let her window shop earlier.

“I love this song!” she yelled to him as the first recognizable strains of Hey Jude came on, electrified on the guitar rather than subdued on the piano.  “My mother used to sing it to me when I was little.”

He smiled knowingly and nodded.  “Mine too.”

She spared a moment to travel down that road, trying to picture the woman responsible for the man in front of her.

Donna couldn’t imagine the kind of mother who could turn out two boys like the Winchesters.  Kind, tough, brave.  She would have to have those qualities in spades, and then the patience of a saint because she’d seen how those two could squabble and that was as fully grown men with nothing but love for each other.  She didn’t want to think about their childhood, back when the arguments were always petty and the payback was always dirty.  The grays in her hair were probably all named Sam and Dean.

“I’m going for another drink,” she said suddenly, indicating her empty bottle.  

Dean nodded, imploring her without words to be careful.  She didn’t know when they’d managed to develop their own nonverbal language but there it was, clear as day.  A creased brow paired with a serious and meaningful glare that was meant to be an affectionate warning.  

_Watch yourself._

“Yah, yah,” she said good-naturedly, waving him off.  “Be right back.”

And if she hit the merchandise table on her way back, who was going to stop her?

Ten minutes later there was another Corona with lime in her hand and a plastic bag on her arm - she’s come away with _two_ shirts, thank you very much.  One was the gray one she’d had her eye on since walking in the door but now another fire engine red one was keeping it company - it had the cutout shoulders that were coming back from the eighties, and she was crazy about them.  Her shoulders were to die for and she couldn’t bring herself to deprive the world of them, not when the weather was warming up.  

Donna was so busy congratulating herself on her stellar financial decisions that she didn’t notice the woman standing at their table until it was too late.  She ducked behind another table, blending into the crowd, watching and trying to brace herself against a sudden wave of nausea.  Behind her the band excused their absence, saying they’d be back after a break.  The stage lights dimmed and there was Dean with this girl in a short denim skirt, trim waist bared with a cutoff top that made her jealous because she didn’t have the guts to wear one.  Chocolate brown hair shimmered in a waterfall down her back and gosh, if Donna had to watch this she’d die.

Literally.

She would take a deep breath and take a last look at his stupid green eyes and stupid full lips and she would just die because _no_.  

With all the dramatics it took her a minute to notice Dean’s reaction.  Which, granted, wasn’t much of one.  Smiling politely, eyes down.  He kept his arms close to his body and his demeanor closed off.  Acting reserved, even though she knew he wasn’t even a little bit shy.  Every gesture practically screamed _not interested_ \- and wasn’t that just the best thing ever? - but the hottie either hadn’t noticed or didn’t much care, because she kept inching her way closer.  Leaning on the table, shaking her hair so that it caught the light as it fell over her shoulder.  

“So, uh, can I buy you a drink?”

Accent, Donna noted.  Local girl, it sounded like.

She also sounded young.  Donna may have even suspected she was in the bar with a fake ID and for a woman with thirty in her rearview mirror it felt adding insult to injury.  

“I’m flattered,” Dean answered kindly, “But uh… I’m off the market.”

Oh, _God._

He had a girlfriend!

Oh, sweet Jiminy Christmas!  

She’d kissed him!  Donna Hanscum kissed a guy with a girlfriend and shared a room with him for ages and even a bed once and maybe she’d thought about doing it again every other minute of every day since.  What kind of awful person would do that?  She was an awful person.  She was surely going downstairs in a handbasket because there was some poor woman back in South Dakota who was going to take one look at Donna’s face and just _know_ that something had happened.

She should have asked him.

But why would she?  

Because it was probably pretty relevant.

But it also would have taken a sledgehammer to her fantasy life.

“Is she here now?” the hottie asked, voice sultry.  “I saw the girl with you earlier but I assumed she was your sister.”

Sister?  Stuff you, lady.

“Yeah, she’s here somewhere,” he answered and she watched as he peered over the crowd.  Her heart stuttered a time or two but then her brain caught up to the rest of her and popped that little bubble right quick.

_He’s trying to get out of this, you dummy.  You’re his cover.  Go be his fake girlfriend._

Dean needed a wingman.  

No, wingmen helped pick up girls.  

What was the opposite of a wingman?  

Claw woman?

She could be a claw woman!

Donna broke free from the crowd again and plastered on her widest smile, practically skipping her way back to the table.  The poor man noticed her, instantly looking relieved and gifting her with a smile that outshone the stage lights and the neon beer sign behind him.  Donna sidled straight up to him, fitting herself against his side a planting a big kiss.  On his cheek.  At least this way he could tell that girlfriend back in South Dakota that she had her back when the hottie was putting the moves on him.

“Hey there, honey pie,” she said happily in her best Texan accent and did her best to keep from enjoying the way Dean leaned right back into her.  She pretended to ignore the hottie for another second before turning and looking surprised.  “Oh!  Hi there.  I’m Millie.”

“Millie?” the hottie repeated as though she hadn’t heard right.  People were named Millie, dang it.  Why did she look like she’d just been introduced to a woman named Rover?

“Millie Goodbody,” Donna confirmed and offered a hand.  She could feel Dean’s body shaking slightly behind her and she knew without looking that he was trying to keep from laughing.  “You enjoying the show?”

“Yeah,” the girl answered unsurely and fixed her blue eyes back on Dean.  

Behind them the band was starting up again, applause welcoming them back.  The guitar slid into another song and she gave Donna another once over that made her feel small and ugly.  Why did women have to do that to other women?  The competition was totally uncalled for.

“If you change your mind I’ll be at the bar,” she offered innocently.  

How sweet of her.

“I think I’m good,” Dean answered bluntly and slid off his chair, pulling Donna closer in the process.  “I promised this one a dance.  Come on, hot stuff.”

Well, if that didn’t just ring in her ears like church bells on Sunday morning.

She let herself be lead away while the hottie turned and swayed her hips all the way back into the crowd until she disappeared.  Donna expected to go immediately back to the table but Dean guided her back into him, until they were chest to chest and his hand was on her lower back.  His other hand held her wrist, the calluses on his thumb scraping against soft skin so tenderly that she considered dropping her drink to get more of it.  A slow, aching rendition of “Something” was playing and for a second she was sure this was another one of her dreams.

“No one else is dancing,” she stammered stupidly, just barely gaining the courage to look him in the eye.

“They don’t need to.”

“What about your girlfriend?” Donna asked, partly because she was a glutton for punishment and partly because maybe she needed to know.

His brow furrowed.

“What girlfriend?”

“The one back in South Dakota,” she elaborated, “I heard you talking to the hottie about her.”

“Oh,” he laughed, “Yeah, there’s no girlfriend.  I just thought it was an easier way of letting her down.”

It was completely stupid that her chest felt lighter.

“Unless you count Millie, obviously,” he continued and even with the lights dimmed she could see the teasing glint in his eyes.  He was so close and so warm and if she leaned forward she could put her head on his chest and forget everything else.  

God help her, he swayed and took her with him and if this was a dream she didn’t want to wake up.  

“Obviously,” she breathed and then they were quiet, Donna happily following his lead as the song crescendoed and lifted her up with it.

The original version of this song was sweet.  It was a love letter to the women in their lives.  Her new favorite band turned it into something that made her skin go shivery with want, building until every inch of her hummed in anticipation and each note felt like a brush of fingers against her skin.  Dean wasn’t helping by actually touching her.  Drawing in a deep breath was getting harder, as was keeping herself from pressing her lips to the shadowed hollow of his throat.

Then the song came to a close and a drop of cold condensation from her beer slipped down her arm and the spell was broken, bringing her back to earth with her back to the wall and her heart in her throat.  Dean was looking at her with that same stupid calm look and those same stupid green eyes and those same stupid full lips.  Somehow he’d pulled her out of the crowd and up against the wall by their table and God, he was so close.  For a second it looked like he might lean down and who ever thought this was how she was going to die?

Happily.

“Dean…”

“Donna.”

He looked so sure, so relaxed.  This couldn't be real.  A man like Dean couldn't be looking at her like that, couldn't be touching her, not without knowing what it would do.  Giving into that would only ruin her and for all Donna's faults, she at least had some sense of self preservation.  

“I saw a mechanical bull on the other side of the building,” she gasped and tried to drum up a brave smile.  “Double dare ya.”

He smirked and nodded, taking a cue she wasn’t entirely convinced she’d given.  Dean took his hand from her wrist and stepped away, gamely looking for said bull.  Maybe it was just wishful thinking but for a second he looked disappointed.  

How ridiculous was that?  

“Fine,” he said finally, “But only if you go first.”

 

 


	15. Crazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean rides a mechanical bull. Donna gets ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks for following this story. There are days I can't believe people want to read my goofy daydreams, so thank you. This is way too much fun.

 

 

_**Chapter Fourteen : Crazy** _

 

 

This was the worst idea Donna had ever had.

The mechanical bull loomed in front of him, worn red vinyl stretched over a bucking robot, and this was ridiculous but Dean hasn’t backed down from a dare in thirty years and he wasn’t about to start now.  

Of course he’d let her weasel out of her part of the bargain.  He couldn’t help it, not when her turn came and she looked genuinely terrified to hoist herself up there after watching so many people get thrown off.  Ever the knight in shining armor, and maybe still a little desperate for brownie points, he’d stepped in front of her and looked the ugly thing right in the eyes.  Well, right in the glass beads that passed for its eyes.  Still, Dean was looking for ways to show he cared and this was one of them - running with her distraction and then protecting her from it when she realized she’d bitten off more than she could chew.

No one could ever accuse him of not being a romantic.

Dean hopped up while the spectators cheered around him, thirsty for blood and the psychotic laughter that came from watching someone else get hurt doing something stupid.  Donna gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up that didn’t do much to conceal the fact that she wanted to call him back or that she was worried.  She didn’t need to be.  Her eyes on him was the only encouragement he needed because he might break a hip but he’d at least get nursing services afterward.  If that wasn’t worth dying for, he didn’t know what was.  Donna looked at him with fierce concern, brow furrowed, and yelled over the cheering for him to be careful.

He was golden.

At least he was, until the damn thing started to move and his grip tightened instinctively on the leather strap.  The band fired into their version of “Revolution” and Dean held on for dear life while the machine warmed up.  It tilted forward first, slowly this time, forcing him to lean back to keep from falling off.  Hips forward, legs tight on the sides.  Then it flew back and his hips tilted him forward to maintain his center of balance, the top of his body coming close the resting across the bull’s neck.  Still, he was upright.    

Two seconds down, a few dozen more to go.

Before he knew it his left hand was in the air, swaying as the mechanical bull dipped and pulled and spun in place.  He was gripping the handle hard enough to bruise but goddamn, he was still there.  The pride that bubbled up was ridiculous but he didn’t care, because when he sneaked a quick look at Donna her eyes were wide and her mouth was just a little bit open and she looked surprised as hell that he hadn’t gotten thrown off in the first few seconds.  Dean was going to be able to pat himself on the back for weeks after this stunt.  

The thing kept rocking  and did its level best to throw him but he held tight, getting a look at Donna whenever possible.  As time went on he started to suspect she wasn’t surprised anymore.  Her forehead was wrinkled in concentration and she was chewing on her bottom lip.  She didn’t look like she was all that happy anymore.  Not even a sparkle of amusement was left in her coffee dark eyes when she’d spent most the night pretty happy with him.  Dean looked back, confused, before he got jerked out of her line of sight again.  

What happened?

Why was she looking at him like that?  

The bull tossed him the opposite direction and he looked for her again, trying to make out just what she was upset about and then he got tilted down again.  His vision tilted down so that he was looking at her legs instead of her face.  The view was still pretty damn good and he wasn’t about to complain but then he saw her knees clench together, thighs rubbing slowly against each other.  Looking for pressure, he realized suddenly as his pulse thrummed in recognition.  Looking for friction.  Suddenly her dark eyes and wet lips made more sense and  _ holy shit _ .

Donna was turned on.

Donna was turned on because of him.

Dean didn't know what was hot about him flailing around on a fake bull but he wasn't about to argue and  _ Jesus fucking Christ on ice!  _

And, there he went.

He landed on his back and all the air rushed out of him, the vinyl padding not doing a hell of a lot to cushion his fall as he hit the mat.  That second of distraction was all he needed to lose focus and get thrown but he was pretty sure he’d lasted longer than most so his pride was safe. The spectators groaned and hollered, cheering him on good-naturedly even as Donna dove under the partition and crouched over him.  It was a spectacular view down her shirt but he was too occupied with trying to breathe again to enjoy it.  Mostly. 

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” she gasped, looking him over and apparently expecting to see bone sticking out somewhere. 

“Super,” Dean answered breathlessly, sitting up.  He let Donna help pull him to his feet and he felt the edges of his knife wound pull, forcing a pained breath through his teeth that made Donna freeze in place.  

“What?  What is it?”

“Just that cut,” he answered and barely avoided putting his fingers to it to see if it was bleeding.  

Donna gasped, appalled.  He was disappointed to see all the hot and heavy drain from her face and get replaced with bone-crushing guilt.  He was starting to suspect that her superpower was dumping a bucket of cold water on herself every time she started feeling good.  The apology was already forming on her lips, her lungs breathing in a few hours’ worth of self blame, but he put an end to all that by slinging his arm around her shoulders and walking her to the side of the pen so someone else could get the air knocked out of them. The next idiot was up and riding in no time.  

“Dean, I-”

“Nope,” he interrupted, “Don't start.  I'm fine.”

“It was my idea and-”

“And you didn't force me and I'm fine anyway.  No biggie.”

She sighed, only looking marginally more accepting of his assurances.  Still.  She didn't move to shrug him off and instead attempted to take even more of his weight.  His leg wasn't broken, not that he could tell, but he let her anyway.  He leaned in and let his hip bump hers every so often.  It was obvious that she was pretending not to notice but he was pleased as punch when she leaned her head ever so slightly against his chest on their way out the door.

“I’m sorry.”

“Donna!”

“I know, I know, okay?” she said as they headed down the sidewalk.  “I just… I’m sorry.”

“If you apologize one more time do I get a loyalty card?  After my tenth punch you have to buy me a drink?”

“You don’t drink.”

“Fine, steak dinner then.”

“I buy you dinner all the time.”

“Not steak, though,” he countered and slowed his walk to a leisurely stroll.  They were heading back to the motel but he wasn’t ready yet.  “And never in an actual restaurant, with actual tables and napkins that didn’t come in the bag.”

“Well, look who’s hoity-toity all of a sudden!”

He laughed.  “What can I say?  I’m a man of discerning taste.”

“Yah, no kidding,” she commented, “I could tell that from the way you inhaled that plate of chili cheese fries about an hour ago.”

“Those were gourmet, thank you.”

“Just because the waitress can’t tell you what’s in them doesn’t make ‘em gourmet.”

“Since when?”

Donna laughed, tossing her head back and letting it echo into the night sky.  She sighed at him as though he were an unexpected hassle but he grinned back at her anyway because he was incapable of doing much else at that point.  Here soon it was going to close in on midnight and then morning would follow soon after, chasing tonight away and forcing them onto the road home.  

“What do you want to do now?” he asked, willing time to leave them alone for a little longer.  “Last night in Nashville.  What’s left on your wish list?”

She shrugged absently.  “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Come on, there has to be something.  There’s still a few more hours before I’m going to need to get some sleep.  We’re talking wildest dreams here.”

“Wildest dreams?”

He grinned.  

“The wildest.”

“Cookie dough milkshake.”

“Done,” he said without hesitation.  “What else?”

“Nothing else,” she said quietly and hooked her arm through his, “Just the milkshake. And you.”

“Well, you’ve already got me,” he told her truthfully, voice low, “So I guess we’d better go looking for that milkshake.”

“Guess so,” she answered and let him lead the way.

 

**… **

 

“Truth - Beatles or the Stones?”

“Stones,” Dean answered easily, taking the spoon piled high with ice cream as Donna offered it.  “Mmm, that's good.  Keith Richards is immortal.”

She nodded in agreement.  “Seems to be.”

“Truth - Bruce Willis, Die Hard or Armageddon?”

“Neither.  Give me the Fifth Element any day.”

“Oh, science fiction over action.  Nerd.” 

“Bite me, Winchester.  And give me that spoon back.”

They were crashed out on the motel room floor, leaning against the end of one of the double beds and sharing Donna's milkshake.  She'd jokingly offered a game of truth or dare but neither of them had bothered to try for a dare yet, too distracted with meaningless questions to keep the conversation going.  Dean didn't mind.  He couldn't think of a dare other than  _ please God kiss me again  _ so he stayed content to learn more about her.  It wasn't a bad trade-off, because now he knew she loved chocolate but hated chocolate-flavored things.  Her favorite color was red but she almost never wore it.  Her first crush was on Cary Grant in some movie about boarding school girls trapped on an island during World War II because he was grumpy and older and she liked that sort of thing. 

His chances were improving. 

“Truth - first childhood fear,” she continued around her spoonful of cookie dough.  He had a feeling this was meant to be a softball question - he was supposed to say the dark or the vague outline of a sock in the corner of his room - but that wasn’t the truth and he had no intention of lying to her.  Not when this was a chance for him to share something more meaningful.

“Fire,” he answered, voice even but not quite able to make eye contact.  “Our house burned down when I was four.  Carrying Sammy out the front door was my first real memory.”

Donna looked stricken.  “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, we were all okay,” he said, downplaying the years of nightmares and lingering compulsion to protect his brother.  “My parents took the insurance money and bought a farmhouse in the country.  You’ll see it for yourself.  Mom has plenty of space for her projects and my Dad has enough yard work to keep him busy year-round.”

“What do your parents do?”

“Mom has done a little bit of everything over the years,” he said on a sigh, accepting another bite of ice cream.  “She’s been a social worker and a substitute teacher.  Only for the high school, and only because teenagers are afraid of her.  For a few years she was a victim’s advocate, back when my dad was Sherriff.”  

“Your dad was a cop too?”

Dean nodded.  “For almost thirty years, after four years as a Marine.  He retired last year and his deputy took over.”

“So that’s two things you have in common,” Donna pointed out.  “Following in the old man’s footsteps?”

“Something like that,” he admitted.  “What about you?  What do your parents do?”

“Oh, they’ve owned the hardware store in Stillwater for as long as I’ve been alive, at least,” she answered, tilting her cup to get the last few drops before tossing it successfully into the trash.  “Five points!  Sorry.  My dad runs the shop and my mom is the bookkeeper.  Been going strong for thirty-five years.”

“Any siblings?”

He didn’t bring up that they’d left the pretense of the game behind.

“Three.  Two older brothers and one younger,” she answered.

“No wonder you’re so-”  She glared daggers at him.  “- ahem.  Competent.”

“You were going to say bossy.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Yah, well, it was boss or be bossed, buddy.  I know where I stood in the grand scheme of things and I wasn’t about to get trampled.”

“I can’t see anyone trampling you,” he told her honestly and watched as she gave up her spot next to him to stretch out on the floor.  Her shirt rode up a little and he had to fight not to let his eyes linger on the swath of smooth skin beneath her navel.  “What, uh… what made you choose New York after Minnesota?”

“Those sexy TV shows about independent women making in the big city,” she answered and he snorted.  “No, really.  I finished my MBA when I was twenty-five.  I’d worked my tail off for it and suddenly I had my whole life ahead of me.  What better place to go figure out what I was made of?”

“And did you?”

She shrugged.  “Yah, sort of.  I had a good grasp of the business and I was successful.  The company was successful and there was nowhere to go but up.  I was feeling happier with my decision by the day until about six months ago, but hey.  That’s what I get for thinking I was too good for Stillwater.”

He was suddenly sorry for bringing Dick Roman up, even inadvertently.  

“What about you?” she asked.  “What made you quit being a cop and buy a garage?”

“Because I was too good at it,” he replied candidly and he could see surprise creep across her face.  “I followed orders.  That’s what I did.  It made me a good Marine and it made me a good SWAT officer.  But when you follow orders you have to live with decisions that weren’t yours to make.”

He leaned his head back onto the end of the mattress.

“One day I woke up and I couldn’t do it anymore.  If something was going to keep me up at night, I wanted it to be something I chose for myself.”

If she sensed there was more to the story, she didn’t let on.  She gave him his vague reasoning, granted him a reprieve from that line of questioning, and instead fixed him with a teasing voice that made the corners of his mouth creep up.

“Good at taking orders, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, lifting his head back up to look at her.  She’d propped herself up on her elbows and was looking at him like she was about to try and be funny.  “Very good.”

“Would ya do the hokey pokey if I told you to?”

“Possibly.”

“Would ya fluff my pillows?”

He laughed.  

“Sure, why not.”

“Would ya drop and give me five?” she continued and he knew she was joking, knew she was just trying to lighten the mood, but maybe this was one set of consequences Donna would just have to deal with.  

Instead of answering he leaned forward and crawled to her, watching her eyes for signs of rejection as he took his position.  He didn’t find any.  She’d collapsed onto her back again and watched him with eager eyes as he braced his arms on either side of her head, balancing his body directly over hers with the tops of his feet fitted against the arches of hers.  They were face to face and he could feel her breathing pick up just a hair, just enough for him to feel it on his neck as he lowered himself down.

His descent was slow, purposeful, and he hovered just long enough to bump his nose against hers.

“One,” he breathed against her lips.

Her eyes rolled back a little and he pushed off again.  His arms straightened, taking him away from her flushed face long enough to see her wriggle in place.  She watched him with sharp eyes, as inviting as they were dark in the poorly lit room.  Dean admired the view for only a moment before he lowered himself again, breathing in her stifled gasp as their noses touched.

“Two.”

He took his time, dragging each lift away from her on longer than necessary and sinking with lazy certainty that Donna wanted him to keep going.  By his fourth descent she had subtly started to arch into him, to lift her head to get him closer before he’d fully lowered himself.  He was hard - aroused to the point of insanity as he neared his fifth and final plunge, keeping his eyes on her as he came down.  The edge of her nose touched his and for an unbearably taut moment Dean was certain she would order him to kiss her.  

She didn’t.

Those familiar flickers of doubt shuttered her obvious looks of desire and then the moment had passed.  A nervous smile twisted her lips up and Dean leaned back on his knees.  Away from her, away from the pressure he was unintentionally putting on her.  He couldn’t read her mind, couldn’t know what was flitting behind her eyes as she anxiously sat up and tried to even out her breathing.  He did know what he saw, though.

He saw a woman who wanted him.

Who liked him, for all his surly bullshit.

He also saw a woman holding herself back.

Dean didn’t know why, didn’t think he’d done anything to make her uncomfortable, but he also didn’t feel the need to interrogate her about it.  Instead he gave her space and offered an understanding smile when she commented on the time and said that they’d better get to bed if they wanted to leave early.  He watched her walk to the bathroom and heard her take a shaky breath on the other side.  His first instinct was to make sure she was okay, to apologize if he’d overstepped, but wasn’t sure if she’d want him to.  He was so sure that Donna wanted him, even if she’d somehow convinced herself she couldn’t have him.  There had to be a way to convince her otherwise but that wasn’t going to happen tonight, not when she was a little shaken up and he was too turned on to function.

That was okay, he was playing the long game.

He could wait.


	16. Honey Pie II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna's thoughts, and then Donna's deeds.

 

_**Chapter Fifteen : Honey Pie II** _

 

 

Tennessee was behind them before she was ready.  It had been the best three days she’d had in a long time - maybe in her whole life - and suddenly it was over.  The morning sun had felt a little like a death sentence and she considered for a long moment begging Dean to stay.  Just a little longer.  Let the real world wait for them a little longer, until she found her balance again.  Until she was ready to run, ready to keep hiding.  He would have agreed, probably.  The man hadn’t been saying no very often these days.  The only one saying no was her.

Because she was an idiot, probably.

No.  That wasn’t true.

Donna looked over at the man in the driver’s seat as they drove into the rising sun and knew she wasn’t being an idiot.  She was in pain.  All she wanted was him, all of him, including the smart mouth and self deprecating thoughts and goofy sense of humor.  She longed to reach out and touch his arm, to grip the thick muscle of his thigh.  Wanted to sink her teeth into his plump bottom lip more than she wanted food or water or air or to see tomorrow.  In her head she scooted closer and leaned her head on his shoulder, told him again how perfect he was.  Giggled when he pulled over and dragged her into his lap.  

Sadly none of that was going to happen, because the ninth of June was a little under two months away.  Donna would testify, would stick around for the verdict, and then Dean’s promise to his brother would be fulfilled.  He would go back to South Dakota and she would be in pieces.  She didn’t couldn’t read his mind, couldn’t venture a guess as to what was going on behind those stupidly green eyes when he sank to his knees in front of her last night, but she was willing to bet it wasn’t what was going on behind hers.  

Donna ached.

It hurt.

Everywhere.

Every fiber of her being was crying out for him, was begging for another word from his lips and another glance of his skin on hers.  And as much as she’d love to pretend that it had just been awhile since she’d had a roll in the hay - although that was pretty true - she wasn’t delusional enough to believe that her feelings were nothing more than lust.  He was gorgeous, they were in close proximity every minute of every day, and he was doing his level best to protect her from hired killers.  Any one of those things would probably warrant a crush but they wouldn’t warrant the feeling currently careening around in her chest.  

They wouldn’t make her worry about how little he slept, think about how she could make him a little happier or how much she hated it when he was too hard on himself.  They wouldn’t make her imagine a life with him - outside of trials or killers or cheap motel rooms.  Some fantasy life with just the two of them, coming home to each other in the evenings and arguing about who has to cook that night.  

June ninth.

June ninth was the last day she’d see him.

June ninth was the day she’d have her heart broken.

So she stayed on her side of the car and leaned her head against the window, delighting in the sound of Dean’s gravelly voice singing to Steppenwolf on the radio.  The memories she’d already managed to acquire would stay bright and beautiful in her head, she’d relish them forever, and that would have to sustain her.  She’d keep her hands to herself and her heart under wraps for as long as she could because as much as Dean seemed to want her, he’d never want what she did.

She stayed warm, stayed affectionate, because there was nothing about Dean that let her freeze him out.  He was too nice, too fun.  He could argue with her about movies and music and old TV shows and be okay with losing.  He could pretend to lose to keep her smiling.  This drive could have lasted forever and she wouldn't have minded a bit.  The Impala was his trusty steed and her magic carpet, taking them to safety and her to a world outside of the one where people wanted her dead.

Her heaven would be the front seat of this car, with him, with nothing but the road ahead of them.

 

**…**

 

They drove all day and stopped just before the Iowa border for the night, at Donna's insistence because Dean's eyes were getting heavy and he'd started rubbing at the bridge of his nose like he had a headache.  He swore he was fine - because didn't he always? - but let himself be persuaded anyway once she used her sweet voice to say her back was starting to hurt.  The motel was cheap and the beds were stiff but it was better than going headfirst into a tree so he carried their things inside while Donna ordered takeout.  He even let her rub his shoulders after dinner because the muscles there were twisted into concrete knots after driving for so long.  It felt good to be able to help him even in such a small way.  His soft moans when she dug into a particularly deep knot certainly didn't hurt either - another loving deposit to the memory bank.

Dean was asleep by the time his head hit the pillow, snoring softly with the covers almost pulled up over his head.  She took the time to step outside and call Sam, updating their location and assuring him that they were fine.  No sign of anyone following them, no one looked at them twice the whole time they've been on the road. Eileen said hello over the phone and Donna couldn't help her excited giggle, insisting on Sam telling her hi and that she couldn't wait to go on another girl’s night with her.  Sam kindly left out the fact that Eileen probably rolled her eyes to high heaven in response.

She turned off the lights and tucked herself into bed around ten o’clock, reading a trashy romance novel on her phone and trying not to keep looking at the sleeping lump a few feet away.  In her book a Scottish werewolf was trying to convince a human princess that they were fated to be together forever and save the world from the oncoming vampire menace and it was actually pretty good and _leave her alone already she could read whatever she wanted_.  Before she knew it, the castle was under siege and the lovers were being held on opposite ends of the estate and holy crap, it was midnight.  She knew already that Dean would be up before the sun rose and now she’d limited herself to maybe six hours of sleep.  

Who cares?

Vampires suck.

She could sleep in the car.

Her attention went back to her book and she’d barely had time to read the next line before a loud _bang_ had her jumping up in bed, eyes on the door like she expected it to crash open.  She watched taillights pass in the window and dismissed it as a truck backfiring but suddenly Dean was sitting straight up on the edge of the bed, breathing hard and eyes scouring the room wildly without seeming to land anywhere.  He looked… stricken.  Afraid.   _Terrified_.  If he could see Donna she couldn’t tell from how he held himself.  He didn’t look like he could see anything at all.  She could hear the ragged breaths tearing out of his lungs and her heart lurched, because Dean had been to war and then been a cop and there was no way she was going to let him stay in whatever flashback he’d woken up to.  

She tossed her phone and flew out of bed, landing on her knees in front of him.  Close but not touching, because who knew what he was seeing at the moment.  Her voice stayed low and calm, willing him back to the present.  

“Hey, you’re okay,” she cajoled softly.  “You’re alright.  It was just a truck passing by.  You’re here with me and you’re safe.  We’re both safe, I promise.”

His breathing slowed, maybe just a hair.  His eyes followed the sound of her voice in the darkness and seemed to land on her.  Suddenly sure that he wasn’t going to hurt her, she dared to rest her palms on the top of his thighs.  His body was warm under the sweatpants.  She hoped her touch grounded him, brought him back to her.  He belonged here.  He belonged with her.  At a loss for anything else to say she started quietly singing.  She wasn’t Celine Dion or anything but she could mostly carry a tune in a bucket.

“ _Oh, honey pie…_ ” she began as her voice drifted through their room, “ _You are making me crazy…_ ”

His eyes closed.

He leaned into her, just a little bit.

“ _I’m in love but I’m lazy, so won’t you please come home?_ ”

The harsh gasps stopped and he drew in a deep breath.  Donna could see some of the tension roll off his shoulders and he shuddered in relief.  She kept singing, keeping careful watch of how he slowly returned to himself.  Dean let his chin drop to his chest and he took another deep breath before covering her hands with his own.  She could feel his pounding heart through the thin skin of his wrist and tears burned at the backs of her eyes.  Seeing him like this was torture.  She did her best to keep her voice from cracking.

“ _Oh honey pie, you are driving me frantic.  Sail across the Atlantic to be where you belong…_ ”

Finally he looked up.  His eyes went straight to her face and she would have sworn that he could see every inch of her soul even with the pitch black in between them.  She didn’t mind.  Not right now, not when he was needing comfort.  He could look all he wanted for as long as he wanted.  She’d be here all night.

“Hey honey pie,” she whispered with her best attempt at a smile.  “Welcome back.”

He didn't answer, wasn't ready to talk, and she didn't need him to.  Donna could fill silence like nobody's business. She murmured endearments and praise and promises that they were here and they were okay.  She told him about the stupid truck and about calling his brother and Eileen refusing to agree to another girl’s night.  She talked for ages and when Dean lifted his head again he looked like an exhausted version of himself again.  

“You okay?” she asked softly and he nodded.

“That hasn't happened in years.  I'm sorry,” he croaked and it burned her up to think that he was expecting her to be upset with him. “It’s over, I’ll be okay.”

Even as he said it his grip on her hands tightened a little.

“Yah, I know you will,” she answered, “But let's crawl into bed anyway, huh?  It's going to be a long drive tomorrow.”

Dean nodded and watched as she stood. Instead of going back to her bed she walked around the end of his and climbed in, placing herself between him and the door. No one was getting to him, not tonight.

“Donna…”

“Dean.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Neither did you,” she answered with a smirk and that was the end of that argument because she knew Dean wouldn’t be that obviously hypocritical.  “Come on.  I just have to tell you about this awful book I'm reading.  You'll love it.”

The poor man didn't have much fight left in him, it seemed.  He nodded wordlessly and waited for her to get situated against the cheap wooden headboard before laying down again.  On the edge, like she wouldn't want him actually near her.  Maybe she needed to do a better job of convincing him that she liked him.  Like, a lot.  She was really hoping he knew that by now.

“Do I have cooties or something?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder.  

“What?”

“Well, you're all the way over there. It's either cooties or you just want me back in my own bed.”

“No,” he said quickly and turned.  First just facing her, exactly where he was, but all it took was an arched brow before he scooted closer.  Not quite touching but close.  She stayed propped up against the headboard while he bundled up pillow under his head, not looking at her but at least not actively avoiding it either.  It was a start.  

“Now as I was saying, I was reading the next great American novel in bed just now and I really think you'd like it.”

He looked at her doubtfully.

“What's it about?”

“So, there was this Scottish werewolf who was imprisoned by a hoard of vampires for years and years but then he escaped and…”

Dean looked completely incredulous but let her keep talking anyway, trying to pretend he wasn't interested in the princess's independent streak or her werewolf lover’s brute strength but she knew better.  He would probably ask to read her electronic copy tomorrow.  (As if.)  There was an excruciating amount of detail to be relayed for chapter nineteen, because werewolf and human politics didn’t mesh and the intrigue was starting to pick up.  Strangely she felt no residual embarrassment for her reading choices.  Dean really didn't seem to care at all, only keeping his tired eyes glued to her while she talked.  His only comment was given in a surly growl.

“I don’t know what’s sexy about something that could eat you but chooses not to.”

Donna nodded seriously.

“That’s why I never dated a cannibal.”

That won her a quick smile, a hint of laughter in the hitch of his breath.  It wasn’t a full-on guffaw but she’d take it anyway because the sweat on his forehead was finally starting to cool and his eyes were getting heavy again.  She could see him in the thin beams of light from the parking lot and maybe she was kidding herself but he did seem calmer.  His breathing was deep and even and somehow in the middle of vampire battles he’d managed to get sleepy again.  

Donna shimmied her way down the bed and Dean picked his head up quickly, eyes already screaming that he didn’t want her to go.  So expressive, those eyes.  They watched her as she turned on her side to face him and pull the blankets up over her legs.  She took the other pillow and balled it up under her head, finally still and finally face to face.  There was maybe six inches of distance between them.  Even though he wasn’t talking, his eyes told her all kinds of stories.  How grateful he was, how he was really doing his best to be normal.  How he was sorry that this was necessary.

“Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I touch you?”

The question clearly caught him off guard but he slowly nodded anyway and that was the single greatest display of trust she’d ever seen from him.  Even above driving his car, above stitching him up.  He was willing to be vulnerable with her, emotionally and not just physically.  To keep her close when the rest of the world rushed in too fast and it was too much for him to handle.  Donna kept that in mind when she reached out and touched the soft skin of his temple and sifted her fingers through the fine hairs above his ear.  Dean closed his eyes against it - maybe it was too soft, too loving, and maybe Donna’s eyes were telling stories too.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, “We’re okay.”

“Donna…”

“I know, honey pie,” she said and maybe the tears were welling up again, “I know.  I’m going to be right here.  You’re safe.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, dragged her nails slowly over his scalp, until he’d fallen asleep and her arm burned with the effort of staying up.  When she couldn’t manage anymore she shifted a little closer and pushed her luck by laying the palm of her hand over his heart.  It was a faint cadence beneath her touch but there it was - slow, strong.  Peaceful after waking up in a panic over an hour before.  That beat felt better than graduating as valedictorian, better than scholarships, better than her first apartment on her own or her first raise.  

There, in a motel bed with her pink pajamas and messy hair, Donna felt her worth.  

There, with Dean a few scant inches away, Donna knew.

Donna knew he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be so vulnerable around her if he didn’t trust her, didn’t care about her.  Anyone else would have tried to ignore it, to dismiss it, to lash out.  Not him.  Dean leaned in.  He let her comfort him until the worst of it had passed, and then had climbed into bed with her - no questions asked, no pressure or expectations.  Dean would be happy with whatever relationship they had, wouldn’t hold their friendship against her, even when it was fairly obvious that he had something more in mind.  That was just who he was, and she wasn’t doing herself any favors by missing out on it.  

She clicked a mental picture.

Another for the memory bank.

“I’ve got you, honey pie,” she whispered again with her hand still on his heart.  “And you’ve got me too.”

 

 


	17. Dream On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a recurring dream - with some changes. Donna wonders if she's dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Here's a little something to soften the blow of Monday.

 

 

_**Chapter Sixteen : Dream On** _

 

  

Dean was dreaming.

It had been a long time since he’d had this dream, sitting in his old recliner.  He’d trashed it about two months later, once the weather improved enough for him to haul it off in one of Bobby’s trucks.  Muted strains of Led Zeppelin IV wound around him, filling up the small living room in his home in South Dakota.  He could hear the cold January wind howling outside his window while the snow started to accumulate.  It had been a dry winter - as far as South Dakota went, anyway - and this was supposed to be a monster blizzard to make up for lost time.  Dean had logs on the fire and enough soup and whiskey to last him the winter if he wasn't able to leave the house for a while, not that he had any plans to.  

He took a long drink from the bottle of Jack next to him and reveled in it, delighting in the burn on his tongue and the fire in his throat as it made its way down.  He’d slipped from buzzed to drunk over an hour ago, when he’d gotten the box down from the closet.  Now he was just sitting.  Sitting and waiting, because he knew everything that was going to happen from that point on.  It may have been a while since he’d had this dream but that didn’t mean he hadn't long since memorized it.

As if on cue, there was a knock at his door.

“Yeah,” he called, not bothering to get up.  He knew who it was.

Cas opened the door with his shoulder, tumbling his bags inside as he tried to close the door against the wind.  He was dressed like he was visiting the tundra.  His puffy coat made him look three times his size and the fur lining just made him look ridiculous.  Dean gave a sarcastic scoff and took another drink.  

“Dean,” Cas said, trying to catch his breath and get his bearings.  He looked around his eyes eyes landed on the bottle in Dean’s hands.  His worried glare wasn’t anywhere near subtle but it didn't bother Dean at all because he hasn’t had a drink in close to three years now.

“Cas,” he acknowledged with a nod.  “Just in time, as always.”

The man cocked his head to the side in confusion.

“Just in time for what?”

“Nothing,” he replied, just because this was a dream and he was already off script anyway.  “How was your flight?”

_Terrible.  I don’t know why anyone attempts to fly.  Were we meant to, God would have provided us with wings._

“Terrible,” Castiel answered bitterly.  “I don’t know why anyone attempts to fly.  Were we meant to, God would have-”

“Hey, Dean?”

The voice surprised him, interrupting a conversation he’d had hundreds of times in the last few years.  Dean turned in his chair and there’s Donna leaning in the doorway to the kitchen, in her baggy sweatpants and a Janis Joplin t-shirt that he’d never seen her in.  Her hair was pulled up in a knot on top of her head and her eyes were warm, looking at him so lovingly that guilt racked him and nearly made him drop the bottle in his hand to keep her from seeing it.

“Yeah?” he replied for lack of a better option.  This was all new.

“Oh good,” Cas interrupted, “She’s here already.”

What the hell?

“Hey hon, I was thinking that maybe we could put this back in the closet.  Whaddaya say?” she asked, walking over to him and nodding at the black box next to him.  He wished he’d never gotten it down in the first place.  Looking at it now made him sick, even if it was once the easiest thing in the world.  

“Yeah, sure,” he replied softly.  “I, uh.  I wasn’t thinking about it or anything.”

“I know, honey pie,” she said and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” he murmured as she walked away with it and looked back at Cas, who was taking his coat off with a smug smile that still managed to calm Dean down some.  “What are you grinning at?  Never seen a girl before?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Cas asked.

“Told me what?”

“That you were needed,” he elaborated and Dean couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.  He leaned back in that old recliner - the one that was now three miles deep in a landfill somewhere - and put the bottle aside.

“Yeah, Cas,” he replied and closed his eyes.  “You told me.”

 

**…**

 

Donna woke first, flat on her back with Dean’s arm stretched across her middle.  His grip was strong and his breathing light as a feather as it touched her bare shoulder.  She drew a deep breath into her lungs, feeling her muscles stretch and the fog of sleep start to thin.  Her toes curled and her back arched and even with just a handful of hours in bed she felt like she could take on the world, bright eyed and bushy-tailed.

Perfect.  It was all perfect.  

It took her a minute or two for last night to come back to her and her eyes fluttered open to drift to her side, searching him out.  She was afraid of his guilty expression, of the dark circles that might be there after sharing a bed that was barely big enough for the two of them.  Her worry was for nothing.  Dean’s eyes were still closed and she watched his back lift with every expansion of his lungs.  Watching his face in the early morning sunlight, appreciating his now serene expression, it was hard to imagine that anything was ever wrong.  

Donna was almost overcome with giggles at the ridiculous idea that she was saving herself from something.  Saving herself from heartbreak, from the pain of separation.  In the hazy red and gold of approaching sunrise, Donna was beginning to accept the fact that it was too late.  If she wanted to save herself she would have had to walk out of Sam’s office before Dean had ever walked in, because not for a moment since laying eyes on him had she been safe.  Safe from his laugh, from his stubbornness, from his kindness, from his stupid gorgeous face or from the sense of duty that he always seemed to carry around with him.  

She was a goner.

Giving in to her own warm and fuzzies and maybe half convinced that she was dreaming, Donna lowered her head back onto her pillow and lifted her hand to his arm.  Her fingers traced on their own accord, mapping the lines of skin and muscle she found along his forearm.  She could just make out the tan line from his watch, could feel the dip of his tricep as it moved toward his shoulder.  Her fingertips curved around the corresponding bicep and landed in the crook of his elbow, tantalized by the unbearably soft skin there.  She traced the crease, let her thumb hover over the veins, and then dragged her nails up toward his wrist again.  

Dean shifted.

Her first thought was to yank her hand away but she resisted, sure now that he wouldn’t mind her touching him.  If anything he seemed to like it, responding by tightening his arm around her.  Slowly his eyes blinked open and all he could see was probably her shoulder but he smiled anyway, a sleepy grin that made her heart thump in her chest.  What was she supposed to do with a dope like this?  Shove him out of bed?  Over her dead body.

“Good morning,” she said, caressing her thumb over the pulse in his wrist.  

“Morning.”

“You okay?” she asked gently.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.  I think I’m dreaming,” he replied and lifted his head.  He was looking at her like she hung the stars and used them to spell out his name and what woman wouldn’t just melt under that kind of look?  She was only human, and her humanity was insisting on getting as much of him as possible no matter what was at risk.  

“Mmm, maybe not dreaming,” she countered mildly, tracing up the back of his arm.  

He shivered a little bit and his eyes threatened to close again.

“Why not?” he asked.

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” she breathed and she watched as Dean took that in, taking it for exactly what it was - an invitation.  His eyes darkened but a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.  She watched as he lowered his face to press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, warm breath drifting over her skin so softly it made her shake a little.

“Better?” he asked.  His voice was gentle, like he was asking for approval, but Donna knew better.  It was a challenge.  A way for him to follow her orders and still make sure she wanted this.

“Getting warmer,” she teased and thrilled at the shift of the bed as he moved closer.  The next kiss landed higher on her shoulder, just at the tip where the joint met her collarbone.  “Mmm, even warmer.”

His lips didn’t leave her skin again.  Instead he chose to drag them across her clavicle, landing at the depression where it met the column of her throat.  His kiss there was longer, as if he could feel her heartbeat and wanted to see if he could make it jump.  Maybe it was her imagination but she could have sworn she felt the tip of his tongue there, teasing, braving a taste.  Just enough for her to decide she needed more of it as her body shivered in approval.  

“You’re getting the hang of this,” she gasped, lifting her hand to toy with the hairs at the back of his neck.  Donna felt the slight shake of his shoulders that suggested he’d laughed at her, only a little, and she tilted her head back to give him room to work.  He took the hint, bless him, and pressed more of his tiny kisses up the side of her neck.  When he couldn’t reach any farther he drew up on his knees to let himself hover over her.  She could feel his thigh resting between her legs and his arms on either side of her head, like he was doing pushups again.

“Dean,” she breathed as another kiss landed on the curve of her jaw.  

He didn’t answer.  Instead Dean kissed the point of her chin and continued to hover, keeping their faces so close that their noses touched.  She couldn’t help but feel like she was getting a do-over, a chance to do what she should have done the last time.  He seemed to agree, pausing his actions and waiting for the next order.

“Dean,” she said again and was surprised at how breathy she sounded, “Kiss me.”

She was hoping that would goad him into action but he just kept that same Cheshire grin, slowly pressing touching his lips to her nose and then to the very top of her cupid’s bow.  She would never have guessed that he enjoyed torture but here they were, her heartbeat a rough staccato and her lips pointedly missing his.  Cursing was typically out of character for her but she wasn’t above it now.  She was a second away from waking the neighbors yelling every four-letter word she knew at him when he swooped forward and kissed her again, for real this time.  

Perfect.

It was slow and tender and sleepy and more than she’d ever dreamed, and that was coming from someone with a pretty active fantasy life.  Dean took his time, happy with a chaste kiss ever so slightly flirting with more.  He held himself above her and tasted her bottom lip.  There wasn’t tequila on her breath this time, no drunken grab for his affections.  No guilt when she opened her eyes and no agonizing over his intentions.  There was only the two of them in that stiff motel bed and Donna greeted the realization with enthusiasm.  

This was all she wanted, anyway.  

She moaned into his kiss and brought her hands up to his sides, teasing at the hem of his shirt.  The skin she found was smooth and taut and it stretched under her fingertips like a cat lying out in the sun.  If she didn’t know any better she would have said Dean relished it, arching his back ever so slightly toward her.  She broke their kiss so she could focus on more of him, on getting to more of his skin.  Her hands ran up his sides and she didn’t miss the hitch of his breathing when her fingers found the indentations of his ribs, her own breath catching a little as she scooted down the bed a little farther.  It took her away from his lips but gave her the hollow of his throat and nestled her center against the hard muscle of his thigh.  She gave a shallow thrust against him and pressed a kiss to his bare skin.  The friction zinged up her spine and she gave a shallow laugh that seemed to hit him like a cattle prod, turning his entire body rigid.

She heard him murmur a low _Jesus_ and then she’d had just about enough.

Donna’s hands reached for the hem of his thin cotton t-shirt and pulled it up and over his back, thrilled when he leaned back to help her remove it.  Thrilled because it bared his body to her and allowed him to lean his leg further between hers, rubbing just insistently enough for her eyes to close and her breath to leave her lungs as a whimper.  Dean was back in an instant, kissing her stupid and sneaking his hands up the back of her shirt so that they rest between the base of her neck and the bottom of her shoulder blades.  They drove her up the wall.  She pushed him away long enough to peel her own shirt off and fall back to the bed, enjoying Dean’s low groan when his hands traced up her ribs to palm her breasts.  His thumbs meandered in circles around her nipples and she ground against him again, surprised and ecstatic when he leaned right back.  

Not good enough.

Not this time, not when he was so close and so warm.

“Dean?”

She punctuated her question with a kiss to the closest bit of his skin she could find - his wrist, next to her head.  He answered with his other hand in her hair and his eyes on hers, admiring her like she was something precious.  

“Yeah.”

“Can I touch you?”

He gave a half chuckle that ended on a groan as she turned her kiss against his wrist into a soft bite when she wanted a taste of him.  She had a feeling he was about to give her a snappy comeback, something along the lines of _It’s a little late for that…_ but the blunt edge of her teeth spoiled his attempt at making light of the matter.

“Yes,” he breathed instead, still looking at her with hooded eyes while her mouth pulled at that tender skin.  

Without a hint of reluctance she reached down and gripped him through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, pulse thrumming as she wrapped her fingers around his length and gave a slight pull.  Dean cursed under his breath and looked like he might collapse on top of her at the slightest provocation and that moment of weakness made her a little dizzy.  She stroked him again and pulled more delicate skin between her teeth and this time he thrusted into her, like he couldn’t help himself.  Like he didn’t want to.  She didn’t want him too, either.

She was definitely dreaming.

Donna was happy to let herself get swept up in the whirlwind, kissing and tasting and slowly ridding themselves of the rest of their barriers.  Real, like her pink pajamas, and intangible - the lingering dregs of her doubts, the ghost of Dean’s fear that faded into nothing the longer they touched.  She didn’t hesitate to tell him what she was feeling or what he was doing to her, assuring him with words and without how much she wanted him.  How perfect he was to her.  She spilled her every affectionate thought so that when she climbed on top of him, she felt naked in many more ways than just physically.  

Oddly enough, she didn’t mind.

Dean’s look of besotted wonder was more than enough to have her tossing her embarrassment to the side.  It only got better as she sank down on him, experiencing the stretch and burn of him filling her for the first time.  A single rock of her hips and she came awake, came alive.  Because that’s what it felt like - like maybe she wasn’t living before this, before taking him into her body and watching as his green eyes flashed and burned hot in the morning sun.  Maybe what she was doing before wasn’t living.

Her hands braced on his chest, heartbeat under her palm as she moved.  He felt like thunder and moved like the tide, rolling her to shore with his wide hands on her hips.  Her breathing grew shorter, her thoughts fragmented, until all she could do was take him in and whimper her endearments and ask him for more.  Dean was happy to give it - even going so far as to thrust up into her as she lost her rhythm, too far gone now to keep them steady.  He didn’t seem to mind, eyes glued to her face as she tilted her head back and closed her eyes.  Neither did her body, crying out in ecstasy as she raced now toward her own finish line.  She fought to keep her pace, to keep him on edge, even as the soles of her feet went numb and her toes started to curl.

“Dean,” she moaned, digging her nails into his chest.  He hissed a breath through his teeth and held on tighter as he pushed his hips up into hers.  

“I know,” he replied and she loved how he sounded - like he was a mess, just barely clinging to the edge.  

“I-”

“I know, Donna.  Let me see you - _please, let me see you_.”

Just that, just him asking, was enough to light the match.  She embraced her climax and marveled as it took her over - too perfect for words, too welcome for reason.  Her muscles tensed to the point of pain and she cried out, blissful and destroyed.  She shook and smoldered and kept him inside her, the fullness too good for her to sacrifice even as the waves faded and she came back to herself.  When her eyes opened again it was Dean who was swept up in the aftermath, hips stilled in deference while his eyes threatened to close from the effort.   

“Okay, honey pie,” she crooned as she rubbed over the slight crescent moons her nails left in his skin, “Your turn.”

Dean groaned and took that as permission to roll them over, still buried so deep inside her, so that Donna had to bring her legs up to rest on his sides as he moved again.  The look of wonder is gone now, replaced with something hungry, something starved for sensation that he was determined to find in her.  His thrusts started heavy and even, ever so slightly shaking the bed as they moved.  He breathed into her mouth and his kisses turn into tastes and then into sharing the same air with their foreheads pressed together.  Her body continued to welcome him in  as he grew frantic and rough and she could see the moment he gave in, the moment he surrendered himself.

His eyes closed, he lifted her body up to meet him as he buried himself to the hilt, and there he stayed for a long second while every part of him flexed and strained.  Donna could feel him shuddering between her thighs and the satisfaction she felt at his heaving breaths bordered on irrational, particularly as she felt his final shallow, jerky thrusts against the cradle of her hips.  She accepted him eagerly, lovingly, while he spent himself.  She dragged her fingers up and down his spine as he recovered, feeling the shifting column of bones as he tried to support his own weight again.  He slipped from her body and another bolt of frisson shimmered under her skin.

“Good morning,” he repeated, voice barely more than a growl, and Donna had no control over the giggle that left her mouth.

“No kidding,” she answered.  “That was even better than chapter twenty-six.”

Dean looked confused for a minute and then dropped his head to her chest, laughing breathlessly.  

“You and that book…”

“You’re just jealous.  You wish you had a book like mine, buddy.”

He lifted his head again and kissed her.  Slow and deep, like he was trying to tell her that he wasn’t done with her yet.  Not even after this, not even when she was making smart remarks about her romance novels.

“I prefer the real deal, thanks,” he told her when they’d parted.

“You and me both.”

Dean lowered himself to her side and pulled her close, burying a kiss against the top of her head.  She answered it with one of her own, this time pressed to the tender skin between his chest and collarbone.  He sighed in contentment and she was about to offer him a shower but now this seemed like a much better use of her time.  

“We’re going to be leaving late,” she pointed out but didn’t put much conviction in it.  

“Yeah, I know.  Ask me how much I care about that right now.”

“Is it lots?  I bet it’s lots.”

“South Dakota will still be there in a few hours,” he answered and held her tighter.  “I’m happy where I am.”

She was too.  


	18. Sweet Home Alabama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. And then the afternoon after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Dean and Donna were briefly refusing to speak with me. It was only bagpussjocken bringing out the whip that got everyone to play nice. ;)

  
  


_ **Chapter Seventeen : Sweet Home Alabama** _

  
  
  


They really did get on the road late.

Dean couldn’t really bring himself to care, not when his brain was still buzzing and his hair was still wet from their shower.  He’d never been so happy to conserve water in his life, not with Donna’s breathy laugh in his ear and the smell of her soap in his nose and the generous curve of her ass against him as he ground her into the shower wall.  He would have happily stayed there forever.  They barely made it out by checkout time, sliding their key to the desk worker a few minutes past eleven.  

Now Donna was behind the wheel with the window rolled down, wind blowing all that blonde hair around and some old plastic sunglasses perched on her nose.  The sun seemed to hit her skin like it was made for her and maybe it was this painfully warm feeling in his chest, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful than her - happy and singing along to Lynrd Skynrd and looking at the road ahead of them like it was a reward and not a chore.  He tried to talk her out of driving - she got even less sleep than he did - but she shut him up with a single suggestive question and a pronounced jut of her hip.

_ You complaining about me offering to take ya home, Winchester? _

Nope.

Carry on.

Letting her drive wasn’t a big deal anymore, anyway.  She’d been taking over to give him a break nearly every day, at least for a few hours.  Baby got the proper amount of respect, she drove carefully, so all of Dean’s expectations were met.  That meant he could sit back and mellow out.  Maybe let his thoughts wander back to that morning, waking up to Donna asking for a kiss.  Asking for more.  His eyes unconsciously drifted to the red and purple discoloration on the inside of his left wrist and took the time to reminisce about Donna's lips there.  Her teeth.  Her husky voice asking if he could touch him.  It was the hottest goddamn thing that ever happened to him. 

The memory sent a strong throb to his cock, so visceral he almost thrusted his hips into it.  But that would have to wait, preferably until they weren't going seventy miles an hour on the freeway.  

Maybe he should get it tattooed there once it healed.  Just so it would always be there for him to look at.  Then again, maybe that wasn’t the best idea if he ever wanted to get anything done for the rest of his life.  The rest of his life being until he looked at his wrist too long, went back into the memory, and let an engine crush his skull.  Not his ideal ending, and he’d given that particular subject plenty of thought over the years.  But then he looked over at Donna in the driver’s seat and wondered if maybe, for a moment, he wouldn’t have to worry about being reminded.  

Maybe she’d be there herself.  

 

**…**

 

“Hey, Winchester, you got a minute?”

Sam looked up from his notes and found Detective Trenton in his doorway, looking anxious and maybe a little pissed off.  He nodded and closed his notes, his brain shifting into another gear.  He was currently prepping for closing statements for a case expected to go to the jury tomorrow, a drug case, and now he needed to shift his way back to human trafficking.  The Roman case was currently his only being investigated with NYPD so it wasn’t hard to figure out what Trenton was there for.  

“Yeah, of course.  Come in.”  

Sam gestured to the chairs across from his desk and settled back.  He snuck a look at his empty coffee cup and mourned because it was already closing in on lunch and he’d only had one cup.  At this rate he’d be comatose by two o’clock and that didn't even take into consideration what Eileen would do to him if he stood her up for dinner.  

“What's up?” Sam asked as Trenton took a seat. “Everything alright?”

“Yes and no.  The DNA came back on the blood samples from your brother’s attack.”

That got Sam’s attention. 

“And?”

“Gordon Walker, age forty-five, former detective for the NYPD.” 

His shoulders slumped.

A cop.

“Former?” he clarified.

“As of six years ago,” Trenton confirmed with a sigh.  “Nothing on his record, at least not anything that stuck.”

“And what didn’t stick?”

“Multiple instances of excessive force but his commanding officers were always quick to make those accusations disappear.  Even now they swear he was a good cop - smart, resourceful.”  He cleared his throat.  “Creative.  Just… violent.  Perps would show up to arraignment looking like they got the shit beat out of them.”

“Resisting arrest?” Sam surmised and scoffed at Trenton’s restrained nod.

“His superiors did admit that his use of force was more than was ever necessary but he couldn’t help himself.  His sister died when they were young - home invasion gone wrong while she was babysitting - and he still has unresolved issues, it sounds like.  And they insisted he’d never killed anybody.”

“You said he quit six years ago?  What happened six years ago?”

“Nothing, that I can tell.  Just quietly resigned and went private.”

“Private as in-?”

“Private detective’s license.”

“So, he’s an investigator?”

“Supposedly,” Trenton admitted but looked like he had his doubts.  “One with no web presence or apparent marketing whatsoever.”

Sam paused.  “Want a warrant for his tax returns?”

“Please.  And his residence.  He’s got a place in Brooklyn.”

“There’s going to be almost no chance of finding out who’s hired him if it really is a front for a contracting business,” Sam warned, making notes in the margin of his legal pad.  

“You should amend that to literally no chance.”

“But?”

“But there’s always tax evasion.”

Sam smirked.  “Capone?”

“If it comes to that.  Heard from your brother lately?”

Sam didn’t miss the significance of the question.  

“Donna, last night.  They’re in Iowa and heading north for the moment,” he said, thinking of the five minute phone call he’d shared with his witness the night before.  She’d sounded fine, if tired.  Nothing that would suggest she was worried about anything other than everything else on her plate.

“No sign of anyone?”

“Not that either of them noticed, and Dean’s got a sharp eye.  He would have noticed.”

“This guy, his commanding officers… they talked about him like he was a little bit of a prodigy.  And maybe like they were a little afraid of him,” Trenton confessed, looking uncomfortable.  “I’m not crazy about having the same badge as he did.  Just… just tell them to be careful, alright?  I’m going to chase him from this end but they should have an escape route planned.  Be prepared.”

Trenton didn’t have to elaborate further, Sam knew exactly what he was saying.

Dean might have to do something more drastic than throw a few punches.

“I’ll let him know,” Sam assured him.  “I appreciate the warning and I’ll get you that warrant.  Let me know what you find.”

“Sure thing,” Trenton replied and stood.  “Caffeinate some, Winchester.  You look like shit.”

Sam scoffed, affronted.

“Why does everyone keep telling me that, like it matters?  I’m a prosecutor, not a model.”

“Clearly you don’t listen to your own interns.  Have a good one, Counselor.”

“Yeah, you too,” Sam sighed and looked at the coffee machine again.  

Just a few more cups and he’d have the guts to call his brother.

And maybe a beer or two after that.

 

**…**

 

“So,” Donna started as Tuesday’s Gone came to a close, “What's your uncle like?” 

Dean looked over, surprised.  

“What?”

“Your uncle, Bobby.  What’s he like?”

“He’s… Bobby, I guess.”

She sighed.  That was not very helpful and Dean seemed to sense that, shifting in his seat and at least make an effort to look like he was thinking.  The closer they got to Sioux Falls - which was less than an hour now - the more she worried, which was ridiculous.  She wasn’t meeting his family.  Well, she was - meeting his family - but she wasn’t  _ meeting his family _ .  Gosh, this was only getting worse.  She could feel a stress headache coming on.

_ Get a grip, Donna. _

“Bobby is grouchy,” Dean settled on finally, still concentrating.  “I mean, he’s a good guy and he’s really not as rough as he likes to pretend he is.  But he works hard and he takes care of his own.  Sometimes he takes care of people who aren't his own.  He’s great.”

“It sounds like you’re close,” she observed with a smile.

“Yeah,” he answered, “Yeah, we are.  A few years back, when things were kind of getting hairy for me back in Kansas, Bobby gave me a place to stay.  Work to do.  He was the first one to suggest that I could make it permanent.”

“Make what permanent?”

“Living here, doing the work I was doing.  There was no reason to leave, not when it gave me some semblance of happiness.”

Dean wasn’t happy before.

Before Bobby, before South Dakota.

The thought of Dean unhappy sent something unpleasant skittering over her skin.  What would that look like?  Would he stay quiet?  Eat less?  Drink more?  It was hard to imagine Dean as anyone other than the man she knew now but there was no way for her to ignore that maybe this wasn’t who he’d always been.  She felt herself falling into a snare of ugliness but she resisted and took the time to remind herself that here he was - with her, with his elbow leaning on the door of his Baby, looking like he didn’t really know what unhappiness even looked like.  

“Sounds like I owe Bobby a beer,” she said lightly, smiling.  “Because there’s a particularly pleasant hunk of man next to me right now.”

“You think I’m pleasant?”

She laughed.  

He missed the  _ hunk  _ part.

“Well, yah,” she said and turned the radio down so she could talk without yelling over Ronnie Van Zant.  “I’ve spent the last month with ya, almost every minute of every day, and not only have I not yanked my hair out - it feels like it’s not quite enough.  I could always use another day, Dean.  I could always use another minute.  Just me and you, on the road, eyes on the horizon.”

Dean gaped at her.

Ah, cripes.  

That wasn’t supposed to come out so sappy.  

“Pull over.”

“What?!” she cried indignantly.  

His stare was so intense it made her stomach twinge.

“Just pull over.”

She did what he asked, still reeling.  They were on a long stretch of farm road - nothing but blue skies and flat green grass - and the weather was nice when she put the Impala in park but this was absolutely not what she had in mind when she offered to drive that morning.  Now he was going to make her walk the last forty-three miles to Sioux Falls.  Why did she always have to do or say something stupid and mess up a good thing?  Was she so dense that-

Dean was kissing her.  

Dean had unbuckled both of them and was dragging her over the seat like she weighed nothing, like the space between them was a barrier he wouldn’t tolerate longer than it took him to throw her leg over his hap and bury his hands in her hair.  He kissed her like he was coming home from war and he wasn’t sure she was real.  There wasn’t much she could do but kiss him back, licking at his lips and pulling at the hair at the base of his skull.  He rocked his hips up into her and her hand flew out to steady herself, pressing against the cool window while the heat of his skin seeped out to meld with hers.

She was becoming more.  

Every time he touched her she could feel herself grow.

More confident, more powerful.

More brave, because nothing could touch them here.  

More  _ her _ .  

Like maybe this was always the person she was meant to be.

Someone strong, someone sexy, someone fearless enough to let the flames lick at her skin in this hot car on the side of the road without turning turning to ash.

“I think you’re perfect,” he gasped against her lips with an urgency that winded her.  “I think you’re so fucking perfect and I don’t know why you bother looking at me.”

“You make it sound like it’s possible to look at anyone else,” she said with a grin and Dean’s eyes widened. 

The flames were licking at him too.

“Donna, when - what the fuck?” he started, interrupting himself and groping for something in his pocket with clumsy fingers.  He dug his phone out and mashed at the screen, prompting her to giggle and him to cut his eyes at her even while he wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her closer.

“Sam?” he asked, annoyed, before putting his brother on speaker and tossing the phone into the driver’s seat. 

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?” he asked gruffly, leaning forward to lick at the skin just above Donna’s t-shirt.  Her eyes widened comically and she mouthed an emphatic,  _ your brother. _

Dean shrugged.

Guess the concept of decency wasn't a concern of his at the moment.

“You guys in South Dakota yet?” 

“Few miles yet,” Dean replied and slid his hands under her shirt to rest on either side of her ribs.  “I know you didn’t call to ask me about our travel plans so get on with it.”

“What’s the matter with  _ you  _ today?” Sam marveled, irritation evident.

His hands traveled upwards, until the soft cup of her bra was under his fingers.  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

The goof.

“Not a thing,” he answered completely innocently and circled his thumbs languidly, without a care in the world.  The man was driving her crazy, making her hips tilt forward of their own free will, like his brother wasn't listening in.  “What’s shaking, Sammy?”

“We got an ID on your guy,” Sam told him and Dean’s hands froze, “The one from Donna’s apartment building.”

Crap.

Their moment was gone, evaporated, and Donna could feel all the air sucked from the car but Dean wouldn’t let her move.  He kept his arm wrapped around her lower back, her thighs cradling his hips.  

“And?” Dean asked seriously.

“And he’s a former police officer.  A detective,” Sam corrected and cleared his throat, sounding tired.  Poor man.  “Gordon Walker.  NYPD, until a few years ago.”

“Let me guess,” Dean said bitterly, “Nicest guy you’d ever meet and this is all a big misunderstanding.”

Sam scoffed and her heart kicked up a little.

That didn't sound good.

“Not exactly,” the lawyer replied vaguely and her mouth went dry, thinking of those dark eyes zeroing in on her while her back was to the locked door.  Thinking of the gash in Dean's side and the bruise that was still changing colors along his cheek.  

Sam kept going, ignorant of her impending panic.  

“Smart with a history of violence.  His superiors described him as ‘resourceful’ and we suspect he has a lot of resources already.”

_That sounds about right_ , Donna thought.  The man in the stairwell had shown a remarkable willingness to kill her no matter what surprises got thrown at him.  

“Well, that sure does sound peachy, Sam,” Dean muttered sarcastically, looking up at her with an expression she dearly wished she could decipher.  “What are we gonna do about it?”

“Trenton has warrants now,” Sam said, “They’re going to try and pick him up but I seriously doubt he’ll just be sitting at home, waiting to be collected.”

“Ya think?” Donna added sarcastically and Dean snorted, proudly if there was such a thing.

“Hey, Donna.”

“Hey, Sam.  What do you want us to do about it?”

“Keep an eye out.  Be extra careful.  We have no reason to believe he knows where you are, especially if you haven’t noticed anything,” Sam said.  “But Dean… he’s dangerous.  Probably moreso than any of us have been assuming.  You should be prepared.”

Donna looked at him, questioning.  He pulled her close, so she had to rest her hands on his chest to keep from knocking heads.  This time he didn’t make eye contact, only ground his teeth together so that muscle in his jaw started to twitch.

“Yeah,” he answered simply, “Got it.”

“Be safe, guys.  I’ll let you know if we get anything on our end.”

“Thanks,” Dean said and ended the call, exhaling loudly through his nose.  Donna rubbed her palms over his chest in slow circles, just until his breathing slowed a little.  

“You okay?” she asked tentatively and he nodded.  

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, okay?” he breathed against her jaw and that something uncomfortable started crawling down her arms again.  He looked so serious and all that heat from a few minutes ago had simmered to a rolling boil, this time in the form of worry that looked like a physical weight on his shoulders.  Donna wished she could kiss it all away.

“I’m not worried about me," she said, cradling his jaw in her hand.

That might have been the truest thing she’d ever said.

His smile was weak.  

“Nothing’s going to happen to anyone.  That better?”

“Much,” she agreed and rewarded him with a fleeting kiss.  “Come on, honey pie.  Let’s get going.  I owe Bobby a beer, remember?  I figure if I play my cards right I can get some embarrassing Dean stories out of him.”

Dean scoffed.  

“You don’t even need cards.  You’d probably just have to ask.”


End file.
